Counterpoint
by BeautifulFiction
Summary: "I know it sounds stupid, but that's what the reports said. Tormented shrieks coming from one of the country estates." A simple investigation into the bizarre leads to fatal consequences, or so it seems... Roy/Ed ABANDONED
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: Language. Angst and grief in later parts.**

A/N: This has been in my head for ages, probably to be updated every fortnight (probably). Definitely that good old fashioned "everyone thinks he's dead" kind of cliche, but frankly, I couldn't resist. Angst with a happy ending is probably how I'd describe it :D

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><p><strong>Counterpoint: Part One<strong>

Ed folded his arms, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he leant against the door-frame of his apartment, examining Mustang's face. There should have been something beneath that Brigadier-General mask he was so fond of: a glimmer of humour, perhaps, because there was no way he could be serious.

'A screaming house?'

To his credit, Roy winced at the scathing disbelief in Ed's voice, running a hand through his hair and shrugging his shoulders. 'I know it sounds stupid, but that's what the reports said. Tormented shrieks coming from one of the country estates. It should be deserted...'

'And, what? You're too scared to go investigate on your own?' Ed watched Roy bridle at the jibe, nothing obvious, just a faint stiffening of his shoulders and a quirk of one eyebrow. It was as much of a reaction as he was going to get, but it was enough to soothe his irritation. After years of Mustang pushing all his buttons, Ed had to admit he got a twisted thrill from returning the favour.

'No, Fullmetal. The previous owner was Lord Jack Mason.' Roy straightened up, and Ed saw the bastard's satisfied smile as his own expression changed. 'You've heard of him?'

'You'd have to be living under a rock not to know about Mad Mason. Been dead more than five years and I still know his name.' Ed rolled his eyes, knowing exactly why Roy needed him. Mason had been an alchemist, dangerous and deranged, but protected by his aristocratic title. Fuck knew what was in that house. 'Hang on. I need to tell Al where I'll be.'

He shoved his front door wide, knowing Mustang would walk inside whether he had an invitation or not. The apartment was small, but it was home to him and Al. Books were stacked in piles where there was no room on the shelves, and there was paper all over the place. Normally, Al kept the place tidy, but right now he had more important things to be thinking about.

'Hey,' Ed said softly, giving his little brother a nudge and disturbing him from the depths of his notes. 'You should get to bed. At this rate you'll sleep through your exams because you were too busy studying for them.'

Al blinked owlishly, glancing out of their kitchen window at the black of the night beyond the pane before frowning at Ed, who was shrugging on his coat and toe-ing his way into his boots.

'Where are you going? Oh, hello, General.'

'Hello, Alphonse. Still working hard?' Roy's questioning was gentle and companionable, far more a friend than a commanding officer, but Al was not stuck on the military's leash, unlike Ed. He was free and making the most of it, just finishing the first year of his degree and facing up to the exams that littered the weeks ahead.

'If I fail, I have to do the year again,' Al said with a faint smile. 'It was hard enough the first time.' His expressive eyes found Ed again, scrunching in sympathy. 'I'm guessing something's come up at the office?'

Roy nodded, turning slightly to include Ed in the details as he explained. 'There have been odd accounts of strange noises in Mason's manor for a while, but we've ignored them. It should be unoccupied, and the reports were once a year, twice at most. Now we've had three in the past six hours. People are scared to go near the place.' He shrugged, heaving an irritated sigh. 'Officially, Mason left it to the military, so it's our problem.'

Al frowned, chewing on his lip as he glanced from his books to his brother, but Ed knew that look well, and he quickly held up a hand to curtail the flow of Al's words.

'Before you ask, no, you can't come. Mustang's already had complaints about you going on assignment with me. Some shit about security clearance.' Ed smiled to soften the blow. 'Stay here; it's probably a cat stuck somewhere or something. I'll be back before you know it.'

Al shared a quick, dark glance with Roy, and Ed scowled at the unspoken communication. He knew that "Take care of him; you know how he gets into trouble" look far too well, and it annoyed him even more that Mustang wordlessly agreed. Anyone would think Ed had not spent the past eight years looking after himself. He'd faced everything the world had thrown at him and made it out alive. Sometimes it had been a close thing, but that wasn't the point. Did they really think that they had to start taking care of him _now__?_

'Come on, Mustang,' he growled, already striding towards the door. 'The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to bed.'

'Be careful, Brother!' Al called, and Ed could hear his worried sigh even as he shut the door. He doubted Al would sleep until he returned, and the familiar twist of regret knotted in his stomach. It had been easier when they were together, tied by guilt and sin — simpler to keep an eye on each other and make sure they didn't come to harm. Now Al was safe and sound, living a normal life. Only Ed's existence continued to be a dangerous struggle, and all his little brother could do was sit at the sidelines, watching and hoping that he came back in one piece.

That was something Ed did not envy, not one bit.

Dragging his jacket closer around his body, he glanced sideways at Mustang, taking in the hard, set line of the older man's jaw and the frown that twisted his brow like an anchor rope. Normally, Roy was calm and unconcerned about missions, at least outwardly. He behaved as if they were an ordinary, everyday part of life that resulted in nothing more for him than additional paperwork to sign.

Of course, most of the time that was precisely right. Ed was the one out there risking his arse. Roy stayed safe in his office, but this time there was something different. It was obvious he was ready for a fight. His gloves sheathed his hands as perfectly as always, but Ed did not miss the fact Mustang was clenching those long, strong fingers into spasmodic fists, and his stride was quicker and more tense than his usual laconic prowl.

Abruptly, Ed realised he was almost staring, paying far more attention to the man next to him than where he was putting his feet. It was not the first time _that_ had happened, but normally he was a bit more subtle about it. It was probably a couple of years ago now that he had realised Roy was not as unreadable as Ed had always thought. Where he had once only seen the masks Roy presented to the world, now it was becoming a simpler task to dip beneath the surface — to see beyond the covers and read the words of Roy's story from the page — and what he saw made him feel... different. Not angry any more, but something more curious and concerned. Something that had no place in the military.

Clearing his throat, Ed shook the thought away, finding his voice at last. 'What's got you so worried?' he asked, hunching his shoulders as they stepped out into the icy night. It was a brief snap of cold between the door to his apartment and the car, but it was enough to snatch Ed's breath away and make his ribs ache. Fucking winter.

Roy did not respond at first; he just shot Ed a strange, half-surprised, half-alarmed look as they both got in the car, and by the time Ed had done up his seat belt he could tell Roy had withdrawn — more guarded and distant than before.

'I've had experience with Mason's work,' he said at last. 'I had hoped that once he was safe in his grave the trouble stop.' Roy tugged at his collar, fixing his gaze on the view beyond the window as it skimmed by. 'I'm just not looking forward to uncovering whatever's in that house.'

Ed's spine coiled, the muscles in his back twisting themselves into stony tangles as he folded his arms. The others thought that he didn't pay attention to their body language, or notice the little subtle social cues everyone else thrived on every day of their existence. After all, Ed would be the first to admit that most of the time he ignored them as another useless bit of data in a life already awash with information. Sometimes, though, it had its uses, and right now his rusty abilities were creaking into sullen life.

Mustang was tense – that was an understatement – but he wasn't the only one. Hawkeye was driving, her profile professional and her shoulders loose, but Ed could see her fingers clenched tight around the steering wheel, white-knuckled and claw-like. Falman was next to her, almost completely motionless except for the steady tap of one foot against the ground, but Ed could see the gleam of nervous sweat on his forehead, and he kept pursing his dry lips into a thin line that Ed could make out in the rear view mirror.

Letting out a deep, steadying breath, Ed fought back the questions that gathered on the tip of his tongue. He had his own mind, and he knew how to use it. He had heard about Mason before, and now he searched through his memories, trying to recall any tiny fragment that might help him understand what had made Mustang and his usually unshakable men this nervous.

Mad Jack was one of those alchemists that lived on in the whispers of the people, yet no one ever seemed to remember the details of his crimes. He had done bad things, that was all they said. Unspeakable atrocities that pushed a man from sanity and into the jagged briar of a broken mind. He took pleasure in his misdeeds that no human could comprehend, and there were murmurs of the dead and dying; the final screams of tormented life before the alchemy took hold.

Yet that was nothing Ed had not seen before. Life had dealt him a noir hand, and he had experienced more than his fair share of horror. He'd had that same blood staining his fingers and charting its way through the lines on his palms. Even if his intentions had been good, the end result was no different. His human transmutation had taken him to the Gate, and maybe Mason had never got that far, but from the rumours he had stepped too close to the hazy line of known and unknown, where reality gave way to powers only priests claimed to really understand.

'Did he work for the state? Mason, I mean.' His words seemed loud in the confines of the car, and he saw Falman twitch in alarm and noticed the turn of Mustang's head was just a little too quick to be comfortable. He'd obviously asked the right kind of question, but getting answers out of Roy had never really been this hard before.

'Not officially,' Roy said at last. 'He did some consultancy work in his early years, but there were differences of opinion on his success, or perhaps the methods he used to achieve it.' Dark blue eyes met Ed's, and the intensity there was enough to send a _frisson_ of alarm through Ed's nerves. 'He was not called on again. Mason was protected by his rank. Anyone else would have been shot for the things he did. Instead he was confined to his mansion and left to live out his life.'

'A house he then left to the military when he finally kicked the bucket.' Ed snorted, doing the mental arithmetic of that little trick in no time. 'Has anyone been in it since he died?'

'Officials, to investigate the worth of the assets, but no one else. It's impossible to sell; no one will have it with its reputation, but the surveyors came out in one piece.'

'Probably stood at the door and guessed.' Ed shook his head, not liking where this was going. 'He won't have left it to the army for nothing. The place is going to be riddled with traps; payback for not appreciating his work.'

'That's why I dragged you along,' Roy replied, leaning forward and nodding to the large, white building that gleamed up ahead. When he next spoke, there was a hint of apology in his voice, as if he would rather not give the words life. 'Mason used the same kind of alchemy that you have experienced more than the rest of us. You're more likely to spot anything ominous than I am.' He shrugged, scowling out of the window. 'Armstrong's here too, as a favour to me. He knew the family, and the layout of the house is familiar to him; his knowledge is better than any blueprints we can get our hands on. All of the big houses look roughly the same.'

Ed glared down at his boots, arms folded and his lips twisted into a grimace. 'Anything else I should know?'

'Nothing concrete,' Roy replied. 'There are dozens of rumours about the old place, but most of it's just stories.'

'You hope.'

Ed straightened up, leaving his words hovering in the air as the car turned up an unkempt gravel driveway, scattering stones beneath the tires. Finally they pulled up outside a set of marble steps leading up to a large doorway, twice as tall as Armstrong and made of dark, foreboding wood. The windows were all black, plague pits of darkness staring out into the night, and ivy ran riot up the brickwork of the place. The gardens had fallen victim to the growth of the years, choked by weeds and brambles, and the estates beyond were long grass and unkempt wild meadow. It looked as if no one had lived here for years, yet people swore they heard noises coming from the house.

'There's hardly anyone close by. Who's been reporting the screams?' Ed asked, following Mustang;'s pointing finger to a row of worker's cottages on the other side of the field. 'Must be pretty loud for them to hear it.'

'Most of them are vacant now,' Falman murmured. 'People are too scared to live there.'

'Can't blame 'em,' Havoc replied from where he was leaning against another car. It had been parked there a while, judging from the cigarette butts surrounding his boots. Hughes, Breda and Armstrong were waiting alongside. Only Fuery was missing, since he was on leave, and Ed could tell from the choking, fearful air of Roy's men that they were all wishing they could trade places with the young comms officer.

'You don't need to be here. You could be at home with Gracia and Elysia,' Roy said softly, addressing Hughes, who managed a grin as he shrugged.

'I've wanted to get a look inside this place for years. Mason kept my department busy when I was still a junior there.'

'Have you heard anything while you've been waiting?'

Roy's question was met with silence until Havoc shook his head, flicking his cigarette to the ground. 'It's been as quiet as the grave. Maybe there's nothing here. Can't we at least wait until daybreak to check it out?' He sounded desperate, and Ed knew how easily Havoc's imagination tended to turn to the more unlikely side of the paranormal.

'I was told it was urgent.' Roy grunted, and there was a fraction of an irritated eye-roll before he stifled it. 'Although the problems with this place have been delegated downwards for years, so I have my doubts, but it'll look good for us if we can sort it out.'

'After you then,' Ed muttered, waving his hand at the door and smothering a grin at the dark look Mustang threw in his direction. He didn't care what the bastard said otherwise, Roy wasn't much less afraid than his men. They'd all been soldiers too long, and now they were up against something they might not be able to shoot. Ed knew they had been through hell and back more than once. They had seen terrible things, but something about Mason in particular had them all pallid and sweating. Some were worse than others. Havoc looked like he was about to faint, and Breda was struggling not to visibly shake. Mustang and Hawkeye were a bit better, but there was a rigid set to their shoulders that screamed its own story.

Ed wasn't stupid enough to miss the signs. Roy and his men had come up against Mason's shit before, but whatever it was, they didn't seem too eager to share the details. Perhaps they were trying to forget whatever they had seen. Ed hoped to fuck they weren't trying to protect him from something. They were too late for that. About ten years too late.

Suppressing an irritated sigh, Ed nudged his way past Roy, who seemed to be in no hurry to go into the house. His footsteps thumped up the marble steps until he was standing in front of the massive front door. He could feel the chill of the wood through his gloves, and a quick glance at the bland, unremarkable grain was enough to make Ed look twice. Part of him was tempted to barge in, the army inspectors had entered this way after Mason's death, after all, but Roy's whole command was here as witness if he fucked up and set off an array by accident.

After less than a minute, he grunted in annoyance. The door was just that, a door. There was nothing ominous about it, and he quickly touched his fingers to the lock, hearing the tumblers disintegrate to nothing but powder. It hissed down to the ground like sand, briefly sibilant in the calm of the night.

'You could have just used the key,' Mustang said with a hint of his usual smug reproach. He smirked at the glare Ed shot over his shoulder, but it was short-lived: a butterfly ripped apart in the tempest of pervading horror that seemed to have everyone but Ed in its grip.

Muscles bunched in Ed's arm as he parted the doors, letting the first whispers of the night slip around him and drift into the dark hallway beyond. His top lip curved in a sneer at the opulence beyond, untainted by the years of dust that had accumulated. Chandeliers draped in sheets loomed overhead, phantoms of decadence that let free the occasional promising glint of wealth. Dusty marble stretched away, interrupted by alabaster pillars rising to the ceiling. A sweeping stone staircase climbed into the gloom, covered in grimy red carpet. The house looked like it was only one good clean away from its former splendour, and, despite himself, Ed felt a prickle of unease.

Abandoned houses were prime targets for thieves. Give someone a tall ladder and the chandeliers could have been nothing but twisted metal arms, their crystals and gilt gone, and the golden frames of the paintings would be easy enough to take, but everything seemed untouched. There were no sentries left here by the military, nothing to deter anyone enterprising enough to pinch something, but still it had been left in peace. Were the rumours really enough to keep people at bay, or was there something more truthful to the half-whispers that even Ed had heard?

'Electricity's been off for years,' Hughes murmured, handing Ed an ungainly torch. Roy's men had them too, and the bright white circles cut away a fragment of the shadows. However, they all hovered near the door, as if every instinct was warning them not to step any deeper into the building's confines.

With a shake of his head, Ed strode purposefully forward, only to be brought up short as Mustang's fingers gripped his flesh wrist: rough gloves on the gap by Ed's sleeve. The touch was firm, almost bruising, and Ed narrowed his eyes in silent warning.

'Be careful,' Roy ordered, raising his voice to include his men. 'We've all heard stories of what Mason was capable of – some of us have been unlucky enough to see the aftermath of his efforts. Don't let your guard down, not even for a moment.

'What about –' Havoc paused, licking his lips. 'What about the curse?'

Ed stared at the lieutenant, not bothering to keep the scorn out of his voice as he parroted, 'Curse?'

'They say Mason jinxed this place with his dying breath – that it'll destroy anything that stays too long. Rips people to shreds...' Havoc's voice dropped to a mutter, his shoulders rounded as his torch danced from one corner to the other before he glanced longingly back at the door. 'Nothing but dust and blood. No one ever makes it out.'

'Then who is it who tells the stories about what happens?' Hawkeye asked, her voice calm and professional. Her brown eyes held a chastising gleam as she raised an eyebrow in Havoc's direction, clearly disapproving. However, Ed still noticed she was shifting her unholstered gun in her hands as if her palms were sweating, and her breaths were shallow, dragged in through parted lips in response to the adrenaline already fizzing through her system.

'The curse is probably a rumour,' Roy replied, and this time his voice was calm and commanding. 'Honestly, I wouldn't put anything past Mason, but most of what we know is nothing but stories. Try and stick to the facts. He was a dangerous alchemist, and there could be arrays left over from his lifetime.' He turned to Armstrong, his fingers finally leaving Ed's wrist with a gentle, trailing touch. A tiny flare of delicious heat lingered on Ed's skin, and he scrubbed at his wrist irritably as he glared at the floor, hoping his face did not look as red as it felt.

He barely heard Roy's question or Armstrong's rumbled answer, and it was only when Roy raised his voice again that he dared to look up at him, relieved to see those dark eyes were aimed at his men, rather than Ed. 'Armstrong, Breda and Falman, you look upstairs. I'll go with Hughes and Hawkeye to the servant's wing. Mason was known for experimenting with his staff. Ed, you and Havoc take the grand rooms.' He gestured along towards the east wing. 'Alchemists, if you find anything, use a basic flare array. The rest of us will come running.'

Ed looked over at Havoc, so twitchy that he looked like he was going to have a fit of fear before glaring at Mustang. 'He's going to be shooting at shadows,' he grumbled, allowing a small frown of confusion to cross his brow when Roy gave him a brief look of earnest pride.

'That's why he's going with you. Fear feeds fear, and I realised years ago that nothing can shake you. Havoc will calm down in a couple of minutes, and his caution might be just what you need.'

Ed scowled as he turned away, walking with a steady, measured certainty towards the doors that separated the East Wing from the rest of the house. Havoc fell in behind him, a tightly coiled spring ready to snap, and Ed glanced over his shoulder at the brutish gun in the lieutenant's hands. 'If you shoot me by accident, I'll rip your arm off.'

'Don't worry, Boss.' Havoc managed a shaky smile, his expression turning cryptic as he added, 'The general will burn me to nothing first.' There was a hint of something like Havoc's usual humour in those blue eyes, and Ed watched him take a deep, steadying breath, standing to the side of the doors as Ed checked them over.

Mustang had no reason to be more protective of Ed than any of the rest of his men, but over the past year or so, Ed had thought he'd seen glimmers of something more than the scathing superior-subordinate relationship they'd always had. It was easier, before, when Roy just pushed his buttons and Ed did what he could to take that bastard's ego down to size. Now it was different. There were deeper currents there, or so he'd thought. However, it was easy to convince himself that he was being a fool and seeing things weren't really there.

Now, Havoc's comment stirred something small and hopeful into life, making him scowl at the door handle in front of him. Did it mean Roy's men had noticed some kind of change between him and Roy, or was it just them reading his stupid, hopeless confusion of feelings off his face?

'I doubt that,' Ed replied at last, twisting the handle and easing the door open. 'Mustang would probably say it was my own fault.'

Havoc snorted in disbelief, following close on Ed's heels as they slipped into the vast rooms beyond. Here the portraits were more plentiful, and the dust sheets were fewer. Perhaps whoever had tried to shroud the elegance of the house had given up at this point, but crystal decanters shone dully from a drinks cabinet in the beam of the torch, and the hulking silhouettes of elegant settees loomed in the twilight.

'Can't believe some people live like this while others starve in the gutter,' Ed muttered. 'Half of this junk is probably worth more than I'll make in my life.'

'Old money.' Havoc shrugged apologetically, as if he wished the world was different, but saw no change on the horizon. 'The Mason line went back for hundreds of years. They were war lords once. By the time they got to Jack...' He shifted uncomfortably, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he was afraid of who might be listening. 'People like that breed with their extended family, you know? Something about keeping the blood pure, as if poverty is genetic or something. It makes them mad. They don't see the same reality as other people.'

'Alex seems all right,' Ed pointed out. 'I mean, he cries at the slightest thing, but he doesn't seem like he's lost it.'

'Compared to the Masons, the Armstrongs are a new dynasty, and they have the sense to marry for love rather than pedigree.' Havoc's voice was sounding more steady now, and Ed realised Mustang had been right. If he could keep the lieutenant talking, it might bleed some of the nervous pressure from his fears.

'You know a lot about it, for a lowly lieutenant who wasn't even born in Central.' He had to admit he was surprised. Of all Roy's men, Havoc always appeared to be one of the more uncomplicated. It wasn't the same as stupid, but where Hawkeye was mostly sharp, hard edges and strength, Havoc seemed a bit less burdened by the shit he saw, both on the battlefield and off it.

'You learn politics quick when you're in the General's command, and politics in this place means the aristocracy as much as it does the military and the civilian government.' Havoc rolled his shoulders, loosening some of the tension in his shoulders. 'If there were still any Masons around, they'd still be big players on Central's stage, no matter how barmy they were. It's all about privilege.'

'That just means private law,' Ed hissed. 'Above everyone else. Is that why no one put Mason against a wall?'

'People were afraid of him.' Havoc licked his lips, his eyes scanning the corners of the room.'He's been dead for ages, and they still are. People don't remember much, but it's enough.' He shivered, glancing back over his shoulder at the half-open door. 'I wish we had more light.'

Ed scratched his chin, looking around for anything he could use. He knew what Havoc meant about the dark. It deadened the sight and allowed the other senses to play tricks on you. How many times had he been stuck in some black, miserable hole on an assignment, and even though he knew he was alone, he could have sworn that someone else was right there, breathing down his neck.

At last, the circle of his torch beam fell on an old candelabra. The silver was tarnished to a dull black, and the stubby tallows left in it were covered in grime and dust. The wicks sparked and guttered as he set them alight, wincing as the flame alchemy melted a bit too much wax and dripped it on the dusty wooden floor.

'I didn't know you could do that,' Havoc said, gratefully taking the torch. 'Thought fire was the General's thing.'

'And how strange would it look if a young alchemist under his command showed absolutely no aptitude for fire alchemy?' Ed asked, seeing Havoc raise his eyebrows in surprise. 'It keeps people quiet, but I don't do it often. If I could find any matches I'd use those instead.' He rolled his eyes as Havoc pulled a box out of his pocket, rattling them meaningfully. He hadn't even stopped to think, but at least now the lieutenant was looking smug, rather than scared. 'Fine, smartass. See if you can find any more candles. If nothing else, the light will help us clear the rooms quicker.'

Before long, they had more than a dozen candles casting their unsteady light around the room, chasing away the shadows and forcing them to loiter near the ceilings instead of cloaking everything in their grasp. Now Ed could see the detail where before he had only seen form, and it was enough to make him scowl in confusion.

Havoc was standing at his side, spluttering in surprise. Ed could see why. To anyone who was not an alchemist, they would see what looked like arrays everywhere: incorporated into the designs of the wallpaper and upholstery, picked out in the tiles surrounding the fireplace, even carved into some of the ornate wooden furniture. To Havoc it probably looked like the open jaws of a trap, but Ed could see the truth. They were designs, but none of them had any teeth. They probably wouldn't hold a charge.

'Were the Masons all alchemists?' Ed asked, glancing up again at one of the cold-eyed portraits,

'Yeah, most of them. Do we need to tell the others?'

'No, there's nothing to hurt us. It's just circles with stars inside, that's all. They're not real arrays. Alchemists like this kind of thing; it's an inside joke. "I can scare people without even trying." You know?' Ed picked up one of the candelabras, moving towards the next room. 'The only problem is, it'd be easy to hide something powerful in amongst it all.'

'Great.' Havoc followed him through, his eyes darting around the walls as they entered what looked like some kind of ballroom. The same circular patterns were picked out here and there on the stone floor, a pointed reminder to any guests of the powers of their host. Instruments were ranged in one corner, and Ed trailed his finger up the harp strings, setting free a cascading symphony of slightly flat notes to soar through the air: a flock of birds taking flight before falling to silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Havoc shiver, his face turning a shade paler as he clutched the torch tighter, trying to penetrate the gloom that lingered at the far end of the room. It did not matter how many candles they brought in here, they would not be able to light the place. There would always be shadow somewhere, and here, more than anywhere else in the house, there was a sensation of something threatening lingering beyond the veils of the night.

'Stay there,' Ed ordered, putting down the two candelabras he was holding at Havoc's feet and tugging the torch from his grip. 'I'll check the arrays one by one. There's something in here.'

'A person?'

Ed shook his head. 'An array... somewhere. Can't you smell it? Like tin and lightning.'

'Mud and blood.' Havoc's hand twitched towards his pocket., like he was desperate for a cigarette, but it changed course at the last second, clutching at his gun instead. 'It stinks of the battlefield.'

Arguing about it was pointless. Perhaps Havoc's nose was playing tricks on him, or his head was too saturated with memories to make a clear connection, but Ed knew the stench of alchemy when he found it. Suddenly every innocuous, stupid circle within the wallpaper and the tiled pattern on the floor took on new meaning, and he found himself doubting his first impressions.

Izumi had always taught him to trust his gut. She used to draw an array and ask him to find the mistake. He would spend hours, looking at it because she had told him something was wrong and all he could see was perfection. Only once he gave up, unable to find the flaw did Sensei admit she had lied, and that the array was fine. The lesson was simple: there is no room for doubt. He had abilities, but he had to trust them.

Now, for the first time in years, he was second-guessing himself. Checking and re-checking things he knew couldn't transmute anything just because he could smell the hint of an old, foetid array.

Time slipped past, bleeding away as he worked his way along the room. Havoc didn't speak, but he still flinched at every breath of noise. Every moment, Ed was expecting either a flare from the others or something to blow up in his face, and by the time he reached the end wall he was twitchy and snarling with irritable adrenaline.

'There's nothing here,' he snapped at last. Turning around and letting the torch beam cut like a sword through black silk across the room towards the more tender glow of the candles at Havoc's feet. 'Grab one of those and come on. There's another room beyond this one.'

'You sure it's safe?'

'Yes!' Ed growled, not caring if he upset the Lieutenant with his rough tone. Normally, he relied on his instincts, but this time they had led him to jump at shadows like a fool. The hairs on his arms were standing on end, and the back of his neck itched. His skin scrawled with the static awareness of alchemy, and every breath was ripe with its fragrance. He could even taste it, but everywhere he looked, there was nothing...

Turning around, he looked up at the portrait above his head. It was larger than the rest, a focal point in the room, and he lifted his torch to take in the face on the canvas. Ed had to admit, he had half expected Mason, but the young woman captured in paints above him was a long way from a brooding sulky old man. Dark hair was swept back up off her face, and a blue dress clung to her body. The artists had captured the rings twinkling on her fingers, and bright green eyes, alight with laughter, seemed to meet his own gaze. In the eerie house it was a happy, peaceful image, and Ed found himself staring at it in puzzlement.

'Mason's daughter,' Havoc murmured. 'She disappeared when she was eighteen, a few months after that portrait. Some people say that she ran off with her Cretian lover, someone her father didn't approve of, but...' He shifted his shoulders, blowing out a breath. 'Somehow I don't think Mason's the kind to let anyone escape, do you? Least of all the daughter who's a vision of his late wife.'

'What happened to the wife?'

'Died in childbirth,' Havoc's reply sounded less than certain. 'At least, that's what everyone said. Don't know if there was ever any proof of that, though.' Nudging Ed's elbow with his, he jerked his head towards another shut door in the corner of the room. 'Are you coming?'

Ed frowned at the portrait again before shaking his head, casting his creeping suspicions aside. He knew what it felt like, but if there was an array in this room, it was too well hidden for him to see. Maybe if he came back in daylight...

He was just about to follow Havoc when something caught his eye. It was nothing more than a glimmer, but it was enough to snap his head back round to the painting. Her face was still the same, still smiling with carefree innocence, but Ed's eyes trailed down to her neck, and the pendant that rested on her breastbone. At first glance, it was nothing – a tangle of vines clutching a red stone at its centre, but as Ed swung the torch back, ice cold ran down his spine.

Paint didn't gleam like that, not even when it was wet, and suddenly the presence of alchemy was a dead weight on his shoulders, dragging at his body and clutching a tight fist around his chest. He did not understand the array the pendant formed – couldn't comprehend it – but the red stone was too familiar to ignore. He had no idea where Mason had got the red stone, but the rock had been embedded in the canvas, keeping something going – keeping it alive, and now it was stirring: a chimera waking up from a long hibernation, fierce and hungry.

There was no time to come up with a defence – not a moment to think of an array that might counter the power – it simply exploded outwards. Bright white light, hoary and vicious, spewed outward from the painting, carving away every shadow and crashing down on Ed like the tempest's wave.

He expected it to swirl around him, to drag him off his feet at worst, but as soon as the glow touched his skin, he realised his mistake. It melted through his flesh and muscle, down to bone and beyond, blowing through him like a gale. The howl of it made his ribs ache and his jaw clench. He was caught and paralysed in the grasp of energy. There was no way to break free, nothing he could do but stand, rigid and agonised.

Something inside him slipped, like a ship losing its anchor and being swept out to sea. The next breath in his lungs stuttered as something burned into the nape of his neck, and there was just one second to hear Havoc's terrified yell and feel the crashing race of his heart stop dead.

Then darkness took him.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: Language. Angst.**

_A/N:Roy's POV this time, and heavy on the angst. A few people asked how long this was going to be: somewhere between five and ten parts, in my estimation :D_

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><p><strong>Counterpoint: Part Two<strong>

Sweat beaded above Roy's lip, making his skin itch as he crept along one of the warren-like corridors of the servant's quarters. The tiles were slick with grime beneath his boots, and so far every room he had explored had been the same: bland, impoverished and empty. Except that it was a living emptiness, a chilling abandonment, as if one day everyone had simply decided to flee and not return. There were personal effects and clothes littered around, forgotten pieces of past lives.

And who could blame people for running away? Even dead, Mason haunted the minds of those who inhabited Central. Most of them would never have even met him. They wouldn't know the true depths of the mad lord's atrocities. They would only hear the whispers.

Roy had met Mason once, under the worst possible circumstances. The military were called to the manor, in force, that time. Roy was a major then, fresh back from the war and brimming with guilt and self-hate, but seeing Mason had made him realise that there were victims of circumstance, and then there were monsters by design.

The man had been weeping on the floor, holding a bloody mess of _something_. It was unidentifiable – perhaps human, maybe an animal, but it was impossible to tell. There were arrays sketched all over the entrance hall, the paint already rubbing away. Mason had been unintelligible in his grief, lost within his own mourning, but at one moment he had looked up into Roy's eyes and spoken clearly.

_'They won't survive to take their punishment. It will fall on your head. I'll take something from you. Something you won't know you love until it's too late. And you will never see it returned to your side.'_

At the time, he had shaken it away as the rantings of a madman, one who was removed from the wrecked carcass and locked in his rooms, the house guarded for his own protection. That had been at least three years before his death, and now Roy found himself wondering what Mason had done all that time, shut in here away from those who did not know what to do with a lunatic of good breeding.

'We should have put him against a wall,' he muttered, lifting an eyebrow as Hughes grunted in agreement from off to his right.

'Bradley kept him alive. At the time we thought nothing of it. You don't execute aristocrats. You leave them somewhere to stew and hope old age gets them quick.' Maes rubbed a finger on his nose thoughtfully. 'Now I'm beginning to wonder if Bradley had plans for him. As far as we know no one ever came into the house since his imprisonment, but we've been wrong before.'

'Bradley's time is over,' Hawkeye said softly, her gun pointing at the ceiling as she nudged aside another door, checking it for anything living and dangerous before allowing Roy to examine it for anything alchemical. 'Besides, Lord Mason was unstable. Not exactly a pillar of strength in any plot. He was as likely to turn against a friend as an enemy in the end.'

It was unlike Hawkeye to repeat speculation, and at Roy's enquiring look she explained, 'Lieutenant Carter came to see Mason with Colonel Harman not long before he died. She told me what he was like: insane. I don't think he even recognised them as people.'

'I just wish he'd stay dead.' Roy rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder and wishing he could shake the sense of threat that hovered over him like a storm cloud. 'He's been in the grave five years, and still everyone knows his name.'

'People don't forget a monster,' Hughes pointed out. 'Not any more than they forget a hero. You know that.'

Roy's reply died on his lips as a sound reached his ears. It wasn't a scream, but a shout, and his heart jumped into his throat as adrenaline shot through his blood, forcing him into a sprint back along the corridor. The torch beam danced frantically as Hughes and Hawkeye followed him without question, but within a heartbeat the light was drowned out by the roaring tide of bright white power. It seared at his eyes, making him stumble and blink, but it was no more substantial than mist, parting around him in cloudy whorls as he stumbled out into the hallway and almost crashed into Armstrong's back.

'Are you all right?' he demanded, blinking rapidly until he could see the big man nodding.

'That did not come from upstairs.' Armstrong's voice rumbled through the air, heavy with dread. 'It was in the East Wing.'

'Damn it!' Roy did not even hesitate as he sprinted through the door, dodging around the hulking furniture and racing through the dust that gleamed strangely in the fading glow of alchemy. 'Havoc? Fullmetal?' He skidded to a halt in the ballroom, swearing as the glow winked out, leaving them in shadows. There was no sound in the room, and only a lingering scent of ozone suggested anything untoward.

Cautiously, Roy clicked his fingers, letting the flame grow to join the chorus of torch beams that were hurriedly searching the smooth, sparse room. They found Havoc first, slumped against once wall. Blood trickled down his temple, bright red and startling as if he had been forcefully slammed aside. Hawkeye was on her knees in an instant, pressing a cloth to the wound and eliciting a weak groan from the lieutenant. He came around slowly, his eyes groggy and unfocussed as his words slurred through his lips.

'The boss was by the painting.'

Roy didn't need the direction, he had already seen Ed, prone on the floor and facing away from them. Of all of them, Fullmetal should be the least likely to fall into an array trap. He lived and breathed alchemy, and Roy felt the coin-flip of concern to anger. Of all the stupid, idiotic... He should have known Ed would not take this seriously. He had made it clear he thought they were all being ridiculous from the start, treating their fears as childish. Part of Roy, petty and smug, hoped Ed felt like a right fool when he came to.

Yet small, salient points were penetrating the tumult of his mood, slowing his steps and making him frown. The arrays on the floor were nothing but circles and sunbursts, not meant to hold a charge. They were decorative, not functional. He lifted his head to inspect the painting, but it was normal. There were no obvious designs or gleams of power. It looked a little damaged around the girl's necklace, but it appeared to be dampness rather than anything to do with alchemy that had spoiled the canvas, so what had Ed found?

Bending down, he reached out for Ed's shoulder, feeling the hard, rigid lines of the Automail, cold beneath his palm. Giving a gentle shake, he scowled as Ed did not respond. Had he hit his head when he went down?

Roy extinguished the flame in his right hand with a flick of his fingers, calling Hughes closer with a torch as he eased Ed gently onto his back, too busy searching for an injury to notice the fine details of his subordinate. A sharp sound of indrawn breath at Roy's side made him pause and blink up at his friend in surprise.

'What is it?' he asked, searching Hughes' features. Tanned skin was ghastly white so that his stubble stained like pitch across his chin, and his green eyes were stark behind his glasses.

'He isn't breathing.'

Roy glanced down, and thick, dark fear uncoiled beneath his ribs, not the wraiths of the past, but terror of what the present held. Hughes had to be wrong – had to be mistaken – yet Roy could see the too-still cage of Ed's ribs, and a line of gold, unfocussed and unshifting beneath Ed's lashes.

The torch clattered on the floor, the beam of light spinning as Hughes dropped to his knees on the other side of Ed, scrabbling fearfully with his gloves. Roy pulled off his own with his teeth, pressing his fingers hard to the pulse point beneath Ed's jaw. Panic made him desperate, and he pushed hard enough to bruise, searching for a beat of life he knew had to be there somewhere. Yet no rhythm answered his quest.

Hughes' ear was pressed to Ed's chest, and Roy stared at his friend, his mind wiped blank as Maes finally sat back on his heels, shoulders lax and his face slack. 'No heartbeat.'

It was if Maes was speaking another language. The words fell like pebbles into the pool of Roy's mind, but the ripples did not touch him. All he could think was that, somehow, they had to be wrong. Ed couldn't be – couldn't be –

'Dead?' Roy's neck jerked stiffly, shaking his head like a marionette as he met Hughes' gaze. 'He can't be. He's not even hurt!'

Hughes was biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, the shell-shocked expression slowly crumpling beneath the first tide of horrible, clashing grief. He did not weep, but Roy could see his friend's hand shaking as he carefully reached out and closed Ed's eyes, hiding that tiny line of gold from sight for the last time.

He almost smacked Hughes' arm away – felt his muscles bunch to do it – but the strong wall of disbelief broke instead, letting through the first gory ooze of anguish. It was just a crack, an invisible wound that stole Roy's breath away. His chest hurt, hard and fierce, furious and agonised. He wanted to hit something, to punish it, but what was there? Just this stupid house full of secrets and lies, and Ed lying before him, horribly still.

'Sir?'

His body did not want to work – did not want to make the small movements necessary to acknowledge Hawkeye, who hovered a few steps away. He could only shake his head, unable to bring himself to speak the words that would solidify reality and bring the truth home.

Abruptly, a scream arose from nowhere, stirring the air as it climbed to a deafening crescendo. The air shook with it, pierced and torn apart like silk beneath a sharpened blade, and Roy moved without thinking, leaning defensively over Ed's body as his lips twisted in a snarl. To Roy's ears, the noise sounded as if it travelled over a great distance, but it was nothing so mundane as human. Whatever it was seemed more primal than that, raw and raging, but insubstantial all the same.

'We need to get out of here,' Hughes hissed, his voice a cracked whisper of its former self. 'I don't know what Mason's been doing, but we can't stay. Havoc needs a doctor.'

'I can't,' Roy managed through stiff lips, his fingers knotted tight in Ed's vest, as if he was trying to drag him back from a swirling current. 'I can't.'

'We don't have a choice!' Hughes narrowed his eyes as the scream died, and Roy flinched as his friend's hand touched his shoulder, squeezing hard. 'We'll take Ed with us, and we'll come back. We'll find out what did this to him, but right now, we have to leave. Alex!'

Roy dimly became aware of the looming figure of Armstrong at his side, and it took a moment for his numb mind to work out why he was there. Alex could carry Ed with ease, but something in Roy's chest rebelled at the thought, constricting hard and tight with panic beneath his ribs. His mind was running in circles, shrieking doubts and recriminations, but instinct ruled him, and the last thing he could do was let Ed go.

Wordlessly, he gestured Alex over to Havoc before slipping his arms under Ed's body. Muscles strained and his back ached as he straightened up, bearing the burden in silence. Some small part of him had hoped that Ed would wake up, that it was all some kind of mistake, but the blonde head lolled against his shoulder, and even without the Automail Ed would have been heavy: dead weight.

His throat constricted, hard and tight, and Roy curved his fingers tighter around Ed's form. He was still warm, still human to the touch, but Roy had seen enough newly dead to know that death's chill took some time. Ed's blood remained in his veins, rather than split upon the uncaring ground. It would keep him warm for hours yet, sharing out heat to a body unresponsive to its touch.

The scream rose again, shaking dust down from the ceiling and making Roy hunch as his men hurried forward. Havoc was supported between Falman and Breda, while Hawkeye and Hughes both walked backwards, their guns pointed at the shifting shadows of the room as they searched for the threat they could all feel.

With every step Roy took, the cacophony rose in intensity, yet nothing reached out to stop him. Nothing as concrete as a monster stepped forward to be slain, and he clutched Ed closer as he finally stumbled out of the East wing and towards the front door. The building could wail forever for all he cared; it had already taken the highest price they had to offer. Of all of them, it was Ed who had borne the cost of Mason's monstrosity, and Roy was damned if he was going to give this place the satisfaction of leaving Ed's body on its cold, unforgiving floors.

The winter air clutched at him as he stepped outside, but he barely felt the ice of its grasp against his face. He felt bloodless anyway, drained of all vitality. It was as if he stood at arm's length from himself, watching his life over his own shoulder, and only the occasional thorns from the newly grown briar of encroaching grief could reach through, stabbing inwards to ground him in breathless moments of horror.

Gently, Roy laid Ed across the back seat, belatedly realising there was not enough space for all his men in the two cars they had if only Ed occupied the back. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted Ed's head up gently, slipping underneath before settling uncomfortably and letting Ed lie back in his lap.

It seemed so intimate, somehow. He could almost pretend Ed was just at the mercy of sleep, but all those little movements that spoke of life – the whisper of breath, the flutter of the eyelashes – were gruesomely absent.

Hughes sat in the front seat, slamming the door behind him as if he could somehow cut short the story of the night and undo the ending, but there was no such reprieve. Hawkeye slid behind the steering wheel, and Roy could almost believe she was the same, professional woman as always, at least until he saw her face in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were pinched and pained, and her lips bracketed by hard, hurt lines. She did not need to be told out loud what had happened. Havoc was going to the hospital, but she had realised there was another destination – a more final one – for Ed. No doubt all his men had, except perhaps Jean and of course, Fuery, who was miles away and oblivious.

Then there was Al...

The thought lanced across Roy's mind, and the icy case of disbelief and denial that surrounded him shattered into nothing but gleaming dust. Oh God, someone had to tell Alphonse that his brother was dead. Of everything that was the hardest thing to face. He just – he couldn't imagine it. Could not picture Al's reaction... or worse, perhaps he could. Perhaps he could see exactly what Al would be driven to, and it felt like losing them both.

How often had he seen other people fall apart from grief. He knew the actions they might turn to: drink, drugs, anything to forget that their life was lacking. And for both Al and Edward there had always been that one other temptation: to draw an array, to challenge the Gate, to try again and see if this time they got it right. Human transmutation. Maybe not just for anyone, but for each other?

With a quick jerk of his head, he cast the thought away, deliberately hiding it from his mind's eye. Not now. He could not even think of it now. How could he tell Al that Ed was gone when he could hardly fathom it himself?

The last screams of the house died from hearing as the car tyres skidded gracelessly on the gravel, and they sped back towards the main road and the bright lights of Central's heart. Roy had not bothered to put his seatbelt on, and now he leant limp against the door, his forehead pressed so hard against the icy glass of the window that it burned.

This had happened before of course; other soldiers, other times... but all those he had seen slip from life under his command had been on the battlefield. There was war, and when the fighting started he knew the odds were never stacked in his favour. There was always a good chance one of his command would be injured or killed. Yet they had all worn a uniform and had all made a choice to put their lives on the line. They had died for their country. Ed had died for nothing.

He looked down at the young man resting in his lap. Roy had always thought death bleached people, but Ed looked vital still. His hair was as gold as always, not that it would change, but his lips remained pink, rather than chalky white or darkening blue. Only his cheeks looked pale and slack somehow, all natural tension fled. There was no scowl on that brow, not any more, and Roy's heart crashed in his chest as he realised there never would be again.

Weakly, he curved his hand around Ed's shoulder, holding him steady as the streets hummed beneath the car's tyres, the roar of the engine only underscoring the lack of human conversation. No one spoke, and he had no doubt that his men in the other vehicle would be just as silent. After all, what was there to be said? Nothing could change what had happened.

'Sir?' Hawkeye's voice was softer than he had heard for a long time, the strong timbre undermined by sorrow. She sounded as if she was trying not to weep, her voice strained with the effort, and when he met her brown eyes he could see the full measure of her concern. She did not just mourn Ed; she was thinking of his whole command and how this was going to affect them. She was thinking of how one death could damage the survivors for the rest of their lives. 'We're here.'

She gestured to the tall command building, now off to the right, and the double doors that led to the bustle of the hospital wing, and beyond that, deep in the building's basement, the chill tranquillity of the morgue.

Roy moved stiffly, feeling the aching creak of muscles and tendons as if his body had turned to granite in the short journey over. His fingers were numb of the handle of the door as he eased it open, sliding out before clumsily pulling Ed back into his arms. Hughes' hand on his back steadied him as he stumbled under the weight, shifting his burden to carry the load better.

Stepping into the hospital was a shock of noise and life. Nurses moved this way and that on their rounds, talking and laughing to each other, and doctors slaved away on their paperwork. At this time of night, there were not too many emergencies within the military, but it was still an abrupt change from the funereal calm of the car, and Roy felt his fingers clutch defensively at Ed's body as one of the doctors stood up.

'General Mustang. Do you need help?' He gestured to Ed with open palms, but already, the doctor was picking up salient points that had taken far too long to sink into Roy's mind. His smile softened, saddened, and he gestured to a nearby stretcher. 'I'll need to confirm the absence of life.'

'Lieutenant Havoc hit his head,' Roy managed to croak, clearing his throat as he reached desperately for his usual professional masks, but they were useless to him. The doctor, however, didn't seem to notice as he gestured for a colleague to help Havoc. Roy was vaguely aware of the lieutenant's confused questions fading from his hearing, but they barely registered as he laid Ed gently down on the stretcher, feeling the fabric tauten as it accepted his weight, supported as it was on a metal frame.

The doctor worked quickly, checking pulse points as Roy and Hughes had done, looking for anything that might belay the statement they all knew he had to make. For one, brief moment, hope bloomed hard and sharp in Roy's chest: a sun going nova before its last light died from the world, chased away by the slow, sad shake of the doctor's head.

'Time of death is 12.36 a.m.,' he murmured, barely glancing at the clock for the necessary information as the nurse wrote it down. 'I'm sorry, General. There's nothing I can do.'

Roy closed his eyes, bowing his head in brief acknowledgement as he struggled to control the thrashes of pain in his chest. Everyone in the military knew the risk of wearing the uniform – they knew how it could end – but somehow he had never included Ed in that equation. It was... unthinkable, like extinguishing the sun, yet here they were.

A couple of orderlies approached respectfully, hands ready to take the stretcher, but Hughes reacted before Roy could speak, gently pushing them aside. 'No, we'll take him.' He looked at Roy, his green eyes pinched. 'We know the way.'

Wordlessly, Roy moved to take the other end of the stretcher, bearing the weight with ease before he turned to Hawkeye, inwardly wincing at the flat, emotionless echo of his voice. 'I'll need you to get Al. Don't tell him what's happened yet. Just tell him we need him here.'

'He'll know something's wrong,' Riza murmured. 'He'll know it as soon as he opens the door and sees me.'

'I know, but I would rather he was around friends when we break the news.' He did not need to add why. Hawkeye was a smart woman, and his unspoken message was not lost of Breda or Falman either, who both hovered nearby, flanking an openly sobbing Armstrong. They looked pallid and cold, as if they were carved out of slushy snow, but there was strength there as he included an order for them both. 'Keep an eye on Havoc. If he hasn't realised what's happened already, it really won't be long.'

Moving slowly, Roy followed Hughes' lead, trying to ignore the stretcher in between them. Already he felt like a pall bearer, grim and monochrome with the bleakness of the truth, and the only smallest blessing was that it was late at night, and the corridors were deserted. They had not covered Ed with a sheet or anything, not that Roy could stomach the thought, but there was no one to witness their small procession.

How long would it take for the rumours to start – for all of military command, Central, even Amestris to know that the Hero of the People was dead? How long before the hurt that had bloomed in the centre of his command was exposed and made public?

Roy shook his head, wondering why it mattered. It was not as if he really had a right to grief. He was not kin, not even really a friend. Ed would be the first to admit Roy was a thorn in his side most of the time, and that went both ways, but that did nothing to ease the growing ache that hollowed out Roy's ribcage. He just hated the thought of other people's helpless condolences. Ed did not mean anything to them, but they would still act like they felt a loss.

They knew _nothing_.

Rage rose within him, a bright, bloody welt of something he could use. Roy felt his lips twist: a rictus of something between fury and agony: heartbreak and hatred. Yet it was too wild, too unfocused. There was no one to target, no one to blame and all he could do was stumble onwards, knowing that Hughes could hear each snatched breath of air and the aborted, not-quite-noises that were struggling to break free from his throat.

Finally, after a few downward sloping hallways, the doors to the morgue parted around him, their rubber seals squeaking on the linoleum floor. The chill air kissed his cheeks, and he blinked at the clinical white and steel that stretched from one wall to the other. The coroner looked up in surprise, blinking as if the blue and gold of their uniforms was a shock to his eyes before his gaze fell on the body between them.

'This way, please,' he said kindly, reaching for a walking cane as he hobbled towards one of the slabs: no mattress, no pillow, nothing for comfort. The dead didn't need it, but Roy still felt cruel for placing Ed on the cold surface. 'Does the next of kin know?'

'Not yet,' Hughes managed, and Roy winced at the choked sound of his friend's voice, but at least he could speak. Roy felt as if he had been robbed of the ability: not enough air, not enough strength, especially for the farewell he knew he would have to make eventually.

'Then we'll delay the autopsy.'

'What?' The shock of it stirred Roy into some semblance of life again, and he frowned at the old man and the young, female assistant who had brought over a sheet, carefully covering Ed up to the shoulders. 'Autopsy?'

'I'm afraid it's standard procedure, General, when there is no obvious cause of death. Unless there is an injury I've not seen?' The coroner's voice was querulous, but soft, as if he knew he was dealing with the grieving, rather than the indifferent face of the military.

'If you could put it off as long as possible, we would be grateful.' Hughes' hand was heavy on Roy's shoulder, his grip hard. He had probably noticed Roy's fingers bunching into fists, and now he was the only anchor as Roy struggled to control the breathless clash of _something_ that cut at him.

'We have three days before we would have to hand in the report. So we could leave it until then, but he would need to be kept in storage.' The coroner waved a hand towards the metal cabinets set into one wall, their drawers fogged by the contrast of temperature.

'Al's on his way. I expect he'll want to see him. If you could leave Ed how he is until then?' It was more than a request; it was a plea splayed open for judgement. 'It should be no more than an hour.'

Roy twitched again at Hughes' words, and the grasp on his shoulder tightened further: a claw that was going to leave a bruise. He barely heard the coroner's affirmative response. All he was aware of was the leaden stumble of his own feet as Hughes guided him away, out of the doors and back into the land of the living, where everything felt wrong.

'Stop a minute,' Hughes said softly, pushing him with gentle firmness against the corridor wall. One hand splayed against Roy's chest to keep him there. 'Just take a few steady breaths.'

Roy looked at Hughes blankly, his body slumped like his legs couldn't hold him up any more. The instruction seemed so... meaningless. Yet even as he grappled to pull together the shattered and strewn pieces of himself, he could see what Hughes meant. His breathing had become nothing but gasps of dead air, adding to the dizziness and confusion. He couldn't fall apart. Not here, not yet.

'Feel better?' Hughes shook his head at Roy's dark look. 'Stupid question. Sorry. Do you want me to tell Al?'

It was repulsively tempting. Roy almost nodded his head, but the shrieks of cowardice in his heart were swiftly over-ruled. No, he couldn't pass this off to someone else. It was his duty, to face the bad sides of command as well as enjoy the good. Besides, he should be the one to tell Alphonse. He owed Ed that much.

He just wasn't sure how he could face it.

Everyone thought of Al as the quiet one, calm and centred, but this would obliterate the core around which his world revolved. The foundation of his life would be shattered in one quick blow, and all Roy could think was how much Ed would hate him for causing his brother so much pain.

'Might be a good idea if you're there, too. If you can,' he added after he saw the crippling flash of hurt shoot across Hughes' face. It was a fleeting thing, but years of familiarity made the story clear. Hughes would be weeping in Gracia's arms tonight, and for the first time in his life, Roy regretted having no one waiting for him at home. Maes would have someone to hold him together, and what did Roy have, other than a liquor cabinet?

'Of course. I expect he's in the office by now.' Hughes squeezed his shoulder. 'We shouldn't keep him waiting.'

Roy nodded, knowing what Hughes was doing. It was subtle, but he was being guided, step-by-step, through his obligations, like a blind man being led through a maze. The army was all about priorities, and now that hollow shell was like a map to lead him onwards, pushing aside the chaotic vortex of emotions and relying instead on the unflinching rules of duty.

The corridors passed sluggishly beneath his dragging feet, and by the time they reached the office door, Roy almost felt as if he was in control. Dread still gnawed at his gut, amplifying the heavy ache beneath his ribs, but this was something he had to do. It was his responsibility, and one of the risks of soldiers having kin in the city. Most bereavements were announced by a letter, sent over the miles of the country, but sometimes it had to be done face-to-face.

And this was no stranger. This was Alphonse, who they had known for years, first as a towering metal shadow of Edward, and then as a bright young man, bound to his brother in a way they could only begin to comprehend.

Biting his lip hard, Roy stepped into the office, watching Al stop mid-pace in front of Hawkeye's desk. The lieutenant herself was sat in her chair, almost slumped, and her face was locked in lines of apology and ill-disguised grief. No doubt she had been telling Al that he needed to wait for Roy, because the younger – no, Roy reminded himself, the _only_ Elric – hurried over, his eyes wide and his face pale as the questions spilled forth.

'General, what's going on? Is it Brother? Is he hurt? Lieutenant Hawkeye couldn't tell me –'

'I think you should sit down,' Roy said quietly, trying to ignore the rough edge of his own voice as he gestured to one of the office seats. Immediately, he realised his mistake, because Al looked at the innocent piece of furniture as if it was an open trap, his head shaking jerkily as he refused.

'No. I don't – I don't want to.'

For the first time, Roy saw that Al was shaking, and knew that the refusal was less about actually sitting and more about the news he had probably already guessed was on its way. His skin had gone from merely pale to the colour of ash, grey and lifeless, but those eyes were fused to Roy's expression, practically begging him not to impart the news Al had pleaded for only moments ago.

With a rusty voice, he began to speak, not daring to meet Al's gaze as he stumbled on. 'I'm sorry, Alphonse. Something happened at the house. We don't even know what it was – something was activated, and Ed –' The words lodged in his throat, stone hard and cutting him with their sharp edges, but he forced them out. There was no right way to say this, no easy way out. 'He's dead, Al.'

Finally, he dragged his gaze up to Al's face again, and he saw the same blank incomprehension he had felt filling him since they had left that house. It made no more sense for Ed to be gone in Al's world than it did in Roy's. That golden brow was knitted in a faint frown, the eyes pinched, but more with confusion than grief, at least for the moment. Only Al's fists gave anything away, clenching spasmodically as his fast mind worked.

'What?' Al managed at last, the hushed, whispered word falling from his lips. His eyes darted to Hawkeye, then Hughes, then back to Roy, reading all their expressions in a second before he began to shake his head. 'You're wrong. I don't believe you!'

'Al –'

'No! You've made a mistake. Ed can't be –' Al's voice choked, his throat pulsing as he began to shake harder. He looked like a wild animal, scared and confused, far more likely to attack than give thanks for assistance – so like _Ed_in that instant that Roy felt the thin cracks in his heart begin to widen and gape.

He moved forward quickly, urging Al back into the previously rejected chair before the young man's knees could give out and dump him on the floor. Al barely seemed to notice the change in position. Tears were already welling up behind his lashes, falling unashamedly as the first slam of shock took hold, and Roy could only watch helplessly, one hand clasping Al's shoulder in mute, useless support.

'We'll find out what happened to him,' Roy murmured. 'I – I know it won't change anything, but –'

Al gulped in a sick breath, like the air that sustained him only moments before was now toxic, poisoning him to the core. He trembled horribly, racked by shivering torment as his throat convulsed around words.

'It will help,' he managed to choke out at last, biting his lip hard and cuffing at his eyes. It did not stop the tide of tears, not really. They still lingered there behind his lashes, tumbling down every few seconds, and Roy knew it would not be a short-lived grief. The pain Al showed now was only the beginning, and Roy feared just how far Al would be carried by the agony of losing his brother – the last of his family.

'I – Can I see him?'

'Are you sure that's what you want?' Roy asked. Perhaps he could protect Alphonse from this at least: from the horror of seeing Ed so unnaturally still, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he could see the desperation burning bright in Al's gaze.

'Yes, General. Please?'

Slowly, Roy nodded, standing back and allowing Al to rise unsteadily to his feet. It was like watching something emerge, broken and ragged from a simple flicker of events. This was not the same Alphonse he had seen when he walked into the room. Outside, they were identical, but inside Roy knew a change had already begun to take place, and all they could do was be there for him and hope this didn't break him entirely.

'I'll come with you,' Hughes said softly, falling in on Al's right and following Roy into the corridor. There was nothing to say on the short journey back to the morgue, no sound but their footsteps and the tight, wounded gasp of Al's breaths, almost sobs, but not quite. Roy knew why Al wanted to see his brother, and it was not about saying goodbye, at least not consciously. Al was trying to prove them wrong – probably hoping against hope that they had the wrong person and Ed was still out there somewhere, alive and well.

God, Roy wished that was true.

The morgue was still as peaceful as when he had left it twenty minutes ago, but the clang of Al's shock resonated in the atmosphere. Ed still lay there, the sheet pulled up to his chest, clothed and blank, unmarked by death's touch but gone all the same.

Al had frozen in the doorway, his shuffling feet coming to a halt as his entire frame stiffened: utter rejection – his last hope dashed. For a second, Roy thought he would turn and run, but perhaps Al was stronger than that, or driven by some need to find the flaw and prove this all to be an illusion. Behind him, Hughes' green eyes were dark with concern and his body tense. Roy didn't know what his friend was expecting, but he was braced to weather a storm: a logical stance that Roy could not bring himself to imitate.

No, he was more like Al than Hughes in this, though he had no right to be. He was still waiting for Ed to move, for this grim reality to come undone and take him back to Ed: living, swearing, _anythin__g_but this. God, it was only a few hours ago when Ed had given him that look of sarcastic disbelief. His voice was still a rough edged sound in Roy's memories, bright and vivid when the man himself had ceased to glow.

His head ached with the senselessness of it, and Roy barely noticed Al step closer to his brother's side, shaking fingers reaching out to touch that motionless face.

It was the breaking point, and Roy saw Al's expression crumple. This was not the first light downpour of shocked disbelief they had seen in the office. It was beyond that, deeper. Al folded at the stomach as if he had been stabbed, his brow resting against his brother's as the tears poured forth, racking the air with gasping sobs like a soldier's last breaths when the war stole him away.

Grief coiled in lank, heavy chains, and Roy clenched his hands into fists, trying to breathe around the lump in his throat as the dirge of Al's tears filled the air. Hughes' face was wet, but he was silent, and Roy himself found that he could barely breath. It felt as if he stood on a knife edge, and any movement could send him plummeting to cut himself to pieces on the unforgiving blade of mourning.

Abruptly, Al turned, sprinting away and leaving the morgue doors banging in his wake. It was more instinctual than logical to run, Roy knew. Distance would not undo this reality, would not bring Ed miraculously back to life, but Al went anyway, unable to face the truth any longer.

'I'll go after him,' Hughes said. 'I need to keep an eye on him and make sure –'

'– He doesn't do anything stupid.' Roy finished, nodding as he tried not to think of the avenues that Al might consider tonight. Common sense had no place at a time like this, and loss could drive people to the darkest places of the world and leave them there. 'Take whoever you need of my command to help. I doubt they'll be sleeping anyway.'

Maes did not ask what Roy would do. Perhaps he already knew the answer, or was too focused on Al to think of it, but Roy could not bring himself to walk out of those doors again. Not even for Alphonse. Hughes dealt with his grief by looking after the living, and Roy... He was fooling himself if he thought he could "deal" with it at all.

Weakly, he pulled a chair over to Ed's side, ignoring the harsh scrape of metal legs over the stone floor before he slumped into it, too drained to think of grace and poise. Part of him knew he shouldn't linger here, in a room meant for the dead, but he was still trying to drum it into his stubborn, stupid mind that Ed was really gone.

Roy had never labelled the relationship he and Ed shared. It was too complex to be neatly categorised. Not enemies, but not friends either, something both lacking and exceeding that familiar boundary. Now, it was gone, and reality felt as if the towers that held the world aloft had been ripped away, and Roy was left with nothing but rubble and confusion. Ed had been so unshakably strong, even as a child, and Roy had come to count on that.

He'd had faith in Ed, perhaps more than anyone else in his acquaintance. Roy trusted him to ferret out the truth of anything, from the latest crock of corruption to the secrets of the Gate, and lately, he had begun to realise that Ed could see the truth in him, too. Not the carefully crafted persona he presented to the world, but the man Roy was underneath.

It had felt...precious, in a way, liberating to be so understood, and Roy...

Fuck, Roy didn't know what he felt. Right now? Lost. His thoughts were shattering glaciers in an icy sea, and his body felt more like a doll's than his own. Part of him logically knew that it was shock: a natural response. He had made the mistake of forgetting that Ed was mortal, just like the rest of them. Now, Roy was left sitting here, his skin turning cold in the morgue's still air as he grappled with his mind and his heart, and all the old certainties of his life drained away.

Eventually, only one remained: he couldn't say goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Warnings: language and angst_**

_A/N: happy Easter for those who celebrate it! This chapter is slightly less angsty than the last (I think), but there's still a lot of emotion about. Next update of this will hopefully be April 22nd._

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><p><strong>Counterpoint: Chapter Three<strong>

Ed felt like an idiot. He had not noticed the strange, twisting array in the pendant on the portrait, and it was as if his brain had been branded with the shame. Some alchemist he was, too busy looking for circles to think of _knots__._

Roy was going to take the fucking piss.

Ed swallowed, dragging his eyes open and frowning as the world around him swam into focus. Instantly, the first prickling awareness that there was something wrong began to stir within him. For a moment, he lay motionless, blinking at the strange, violet light that seemed to seep past his eyes and hurt his brain. Perhaps it was the power emitted by the array?

The tremulous question died as he began to notice what was missing. There was no ceiling, no walls, no floor even. The paintings were gone, and so was the furniture. Instead there was nothing but an empty expanse of glowing haze, and if it were not for the colour, he could swear he was back at the Gate.

His body moved quickly, twisting like a cat as he rolled onto his knees. His fingers splayed on an invisible, tacky surface as he crouched down, teeth bared in a snarl while he searched the uncertain horizon for any sign of the threshold. Yet not even that looming shape interrupted this featureless place. It seemed utterly empty, void of life and endless in its barren state.

'Where the fuck am I?'

A scream cut through oblivion, making him clap his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise. It was not human and afraid, but a predatory screech, hungry and desperate. It sounded as if whatever it was stood right behind his shoulder, and Ed lashed out automatically, slicing through empty air, his alchemy crackling around his wrist as the Automail blade sprung to life.

Sweat prickled along his hairline as he blinked around, waking up to the shrieking instincts that contradicted what his eyes were telling him. Whatever it looked like, and wherever this place was, he was far from alone. Licking dry lips, he straightened up as the high-pitched cry died away, fading to nothing but echoes before it vanished completely, leaving faint whorls in the thin mist that permeated the air.

Slowly, Ed turned in a circle, checking every direction for another presence or, even better, a way out, but there was nothing to see. Just like back at the Gate, there was no obvious escape, and his heart thrashed beneath his ribs as the first edges of dark panic dimmed his vision.

No, there was no time for that. Not now. He needed a clear head. The knot of lines that formed the girl's pendant in the portrait had been one of Mason's genuine arrays, and if alchemy had brought him here, then it could get him back again. He just had to _think._

Moving slowly, he picked a direction and walked. Veils of vapour swirled around his boots as he chewed on his lip, trying to put together an array in his mind and listen out for threats at the same time. Whatever Mason had been doing, it was complex, miles from the basic Alchemy that most people knew. All Ed could really remember was a couple of storage symbols, and something else that looked like a siphon. Something about the design was tickling at the back of his mind, making his memories whisper in the cavern of his head, but recollection evaded him.

He could try blasting his way out, but Ed doubted that would do him any favours. Without knowing anything about Mason's array, he could just as well implode the whole place with him in it as make his escape, but what else could he do? What choice did he...

Ed's thoughts cut off as a sound away to his right caught his ear: soft and sibilant, like scales on stone. Whipping around, he searched for the threat, but still his eyes saw nothing of note. Perhaps he was blind, or this was all an illusion. How the fuck was he meant to defend himself against things he couldn't see?

His next breath gasped into his lungs, and it was as if that sign of life was all the mist had been waiting for. What had been nothing more threatening than steam coalesced, leaping forward with bunched muscles and outstretched talons, finger length and vicious. Acid green light glowed where eyes should be, and Ed got a brief impression of something gigantic and cat-like as he spun out of the way, bringing his blade down in a desperate attack.

The creature vanished, whipping around him in a vortex before solidifying again and relaunching its efforts, ebony teeth gleaming with drool as it slashed downwards, and this time he did not move quick enough. The claws sank into his side, gouging out a chunk of flesh the size of his fist. The scream caught in his throat, harsh and unearthly as he clutched at the injury, scrabbling back desperately to get out of its reach.

Yet the animal did not follow him, and Ed stared in confusion. There should have been blood on the floor, and there was a fluid of some sort, but it glowed like molten gold in the strange, translucent world, dripping from his side and splattered across the ground. The animal was gorging on what it had taken, ripping and gnawing at what should have been a red mass, but instead looked like raw light, dimming with every desperate mouthful it took.

Ed stared as the animal began to change. Blunt, feline features softened, forming a pointed nose and big, green eyes. The strong muscles shifted, becoming folds of black fabric, and soft curls tumbled around the face that had formed. It still ate voraciously, licking its fingers in rapturous delight before turnings its attention to the pools on the floor, lapping at them with a tongue not built for the job. However, it was now a woman on her hands and knees, skin and bone beneath the dress, so starved she looked like she might snap if he touched her.

He could see the sharp lines of her shoulder-blades, like knives cutting through her skin, and when she looked up at him, he noticed that her once beautiful face was drawn tight over her bones. It didn't stop him recognising her, though. The girl in the portrait.

Her teeth flashed in a twisted rictus of a grin, and Ed shuddered at the fangs behind those taut lips. Just because she looked human didn't make it true, and the hunger in her eyes was all too apparent. She crawled towards him over the floor, dragging her body along as if she had long ago forgotten how to walk. Beckoning fingers curved outwards, grasping, and before Ed could scramble out of her way, her grasp caught his flesh leg, fingers like rock as the pain shot through him.

A whimper caught in her throat, but it was one of desire, and Ed staggered upright as she dragged her fingers away, licking at the golden residue that stuck to her flesh.

'Stay the fuck away from me,' he spat, staggering gracelessly away, one hand still clutching his injured side.

The girl cocked her head, as if she was struggling to comprehend the language, and when she spoke, it was in stilted, upper-class Amestrian. 'How can I eat you if I do not get close?'

The innocent confusion in her voice was enough to send a chill down his spine. He wished he could pretend it was sexual innuendo in her voice, but her hunger was to do with sustenance, nothing more.

'I'm not food!' he snarled, jumping back as she lunged forward, clutching at him again.

'Yes, you are.' Her reply was matter-of-fact, and a bird-thin hand fluttered in a vague gesture at the plane around her. 'So were they.'

Ed followed her gaze and swallowed tightly, seeing a ghostly suggestion of broken, gnawed-on bones in the mist. They did not seem right, somehow, not solid enough to be real, but something told him he shouldn't question the warning.

'It has been so long since I was fed,' the woman keened. 'So long. Years of waiting and fading, but father is helped me now.' Her bright, chilling smile evaporated into a petulant scowl. 'The others stayed still. Cried and screamed but did not move. They were happy to help me.'

'I doubt that.' Ed licked his lips, risking another glance into the feral eyes of Mason's daughter as an icy thought permeated his brain. 'Mason did this to you, didn't he? He put you here, and turned you into this.'

'It was an accident,' she shrieked, her voice making the fog twist into gruesome shapes as she clawed her way further forward, dragging herself upright and struggling against her dress as she fought to keep her balance, all the while glaring daggers at him. 'I ran in when I was told to keep out, and this is what happened to me. Father is sorry; he is finding a way to put me back. He is keeping me safe and fed while I wait. Stopping me from fading... it was an _accident!__'_

'It's been years since anyone ended up in here with you. Years since you were last fed.' Ed stepped back, never taking his eyes off her as his mind continued to race. 'Jack Mason died a long time ago. He can't bring you back now.'

The skeletal face went slack, all expression draining away as his words resonated in the air. He could see the flicker of age-old emotion in her eyes, and her hands fluttered to the necklace that still gleamed around her throat: a twisted knot of lifeless alchemy, an echo of herself in the picture in Mason's mansion.

As soon as her fingers touched it, her face changed. The thin veneer of humanity melted away, and shadows shifted around her as the human cry erupted from an animal mouth.

'_Liar!'_

Ed darted to the side, twisting away from her claws before he broke into a frenzied sprint, trying to ignore the pain in his side as he ran blindly. All that mattered was getting away from her, but every turn he took only lost him deeper in the fog, dragging his breath from his lungs as his muscles burned from the effort.

Normally, running was the last thing he would do. He had spent his life fighting any trial that came his way, but somehow he doubted she could really be hurt in this place: this cocoon world Mason had clearly built to keep her safe. Nothing could survive so long without food – nothing normal anyway – but it was clear that whoever Mason's daughter had once been, she was now more of a monster than a person, and there was no way he was becoming her next snack.

_'No!' _

Ed flinched, and the world around him burst like a bubble. He felt its passing: the soft, taut film exploding against his skin as her scream of fury echoed in his ears. He expected the slash of her claws at any moment, but when nothing sliced into him, he gradually allowed his eyes to open again.

The room around him was clinical and cold, full of Arctic steel and neat, medical-like instruments arranged on trays. It reminded him of a hospital, but as Ed focussed on the two people in the room, his heart sank. Hospitals were about life, and this place... wasn't.

Mustang was sitting at someone's side, though they were resting on a slab, rather than a stretcher, and Ed's heart twisted in fear. Shit, had the array killed Havoc? He didn't think the lieutenant had been that close, but anything was possible. He had no idea what else Mason's arrays were capable of. With a stumbling step forward he reached out a hand, calling out Roy's name.

Yet the sound that reached his ears was quiet and faint, like someone speaking at the end of a long tunnel, and his boots made no noise on the floor. The laces were resting against cold stone, but they did not click as he inched closer, a deep, dark horror settling into his gut.

It was not Havoc on the slab. The hair was the wrong shade for a start, and the body was not clothed in a uniform. His first, horrified thought was of Al, but the impression died before it could bloom. The shoulders still visible above the sheet were clothed in a familiar black, and the face was wrong for Alphonse. Instead, Ed found himself staring at his own body: not a reflection, but the real thing, so familiar to him and yet, in this moment, so utterly alien that his mind stumbled in clumsy disbelief.

He had never realised that his jaw was that strong, or that there was so much of his father in his face. Now, looking at himself from the outside, it was obvious why others made the hated connection. Yet those thoughts were fleeting and panicked: a flock of birds taking flight in his mind as he dragged in a shuddering breath and reached out his hand to touch the still figure.

His flesh fingers hesitated a hair's breadth from the surface, and he found himself staring at the form he currently occupied. The solid skin and bone he had always taken for granted looked too weak here. If he concentrated hard enough, he was sure that he could see the sheet and the curve of the body's Automail shoulder through the splay of his palm. It looked like paint spread too thin.

Ed blinked, lifting his right hand and turning it over, examining the shining steel from every angle and feeling his heart sink as he realised the reflections were wrong. The light moved across it more slowly than it should, and there were no soft, metallic sounds from the limb, even when he clenched his fingers into a fist.

The world around him was real, and somehow he was not. The real him lay there, still and silent on a coroner's table, but what did that make him?

A sneer twisted his lips at the obvious answer. Ed had never believed in ghosts, but how else could he explain his presence? He was not solid, a fact confirmed when he tried to touch his own, motionless shoulder and his fingers drifted right through. Part of him wanted to believe that it was the other way around, that this place was a dream and he was the reality, but he knew it was not true. Mason had done something, and this was the result: a dead body and nothing left but mist with a mind.

'I'm sorry.'

The cracked words whispered through the still air, and he jerked his head up to stare at Roy. Did he know what had happened? Could he see him? It took a few seconds for the truth to hit home, and Ed swallowed uncomfortably, realising Roy was talking to the body on the unforgiving bed, rather than him.

'I should have waited until it was light to search the house,' Roy continued, 'I shouldn't have split us up to cover more ground. I should've been there.'

Ed watched him scrub a shaking hand across his face, scratching at stubble before shielding his eyes from sight. His shoulders heaved, a sharp, shuddering motion, and Ed's heart twisted in shock at the gasp of air Roy's sob dragged in. He had seen a lot of emotion on Roy's face, in his unguarded moments, from joy to black despair, but he could not remember ever seeing Roy shed a tear over anything. Now he was sitting in this cold, blank room and struggling not to weep because he thought Ed was gone.

Like a bucket of ice water drenching him from head to toe, Ed saw beyond his own shock to the lies reality was trying to pass off as truth. They thought he was dead, and how could he blame them? They had a corpse, not moving, not breathing, and no fucking clue what Mason's legacy had done. At least he knew there was something of him left. This, this ghost, or whatever he was, had nothing to do with the afterlife. It was Mason's fault, all of it!

Moving jerkily around the bed, Ed hunkered down at Roy's side. 'I'm still here, you idiot,' he murmured softly, cursing at the quiet echo of words that Roy clearly could not sense. 'I don't know what it did to me, but I'm not gone. You need to get back to the house. You need to –' His words cut off as Roy jerked away, shivering hard. The next breath left his lips in a stutter of steam, as if he had stepped outside into the frosty morning, and Ed realised that he had reached out to grasp Roy's wrist with insubstantial fingers, as if a nothing-touch could somehow catch his attention.

Tears shone bright in Roy's eyes, but he blinked them back. If any had fallen, they left no mark on his cheeks. He just looked pale, as if he had been carved from marble – almost as lifeless as the body in front of him. He turned his head, and just for a moment, it felt like he was gazing right into Ed's eyes. A brief, pained frown fluttered across that brow, but it was gone in a heartbeat as Roy turned away again, the figure on the slab recapturing his attention.

Ed drew his hands back, scrubbing his palms over his face as his mind swirled in a cacophony of confusion and denial. He couldn't cope with the emotion on Roy's face – couldn't bring himself to look at the aching grief that lay thick across those handsome features – and he found himself turning away, choosing to focus on the problem he faced, rather than the consequences.

Obediently, his brain fell into the logical recounting of events, and Ed stared at the floor as he thought it through. Mason's array had dragged him to a different plane and left his body on the floor of that stupid house. The red stone in the centre of the pendant in the portrait had kept the design active, and Ed wondered how many others had fallen victim to its powers. He wouldn't have been the first, and Ed suspected there were stories of others going missing in that place. Yet Roy said the surveyors had examined the house and emerged unharmed, so either they didn't enter the ballroom at all, or they weren't suitable to feed Mason's daughter.

With a sigh, Ed glanced up at the body on the table – almost impossible to think of it as himself – before standing up and turning his back, choosing to survey the small morgue rather than stare at his own corpse any longer. His arrival in this room had been a short-lived relief, but at least it showed him something about the world Mason had created to harbour what remained of his daughter.

Unlike the Gate, it was a limited space. It had boundaries, and that meant a way out. Ed had been able to escape simply by running through an invisible wall, but somehow he doubted it was a simple matter of here and there. He had to be careful in case he ended up back with her. He doubted she would bother to savour whatever meal he offered this time. She'd devour him in one go, and then there really would be nothing left of him.

Reaching down to his side, Ed shifted aside his vest and jacket, frowning at the smooth, unmarked skin. There was no sign of the injury she had delivered, which would have been enough to have him doubled up and bleeding out if he were still solid. Yet she had taken something from him, something tangible enough to sustain her, and Ed's mind spun with the possibilities. Shouldn't there at least be a hole?

The rush of his thoughts was interrupted by the squeak of the morgue door seals on the floor, and he blinked up to see Havoc. The man looked terrible, his face sallow beneath the bright white swathe of the bandage that wrapped around his head. Dark shadows rested under those blue eyes, and his normal light-hearted confidence was completely absent. Instead he cringed at the threshold, half-hiding behind one of the doors before he dragged himself into the room.

Roy glanced over his shoulder stiffly, as if his neck did not want to work, but Ed could see a little bit of life in his eyes as he took in the lieutenant. Whatever else he was feeling, Roy still cared about his men, and Havoc probably shouldn't even be out of bed. He was dressed sloppily in his uniform trousers and his shirt, which was untucked and open at the collar, the sleeves flapping at his wrist where the cuffs remained unfastened.

'Sit down, Jean,' Roy said softly, relinquishing his own chair and urging Havoc into it. 'You should still be in hospital.'

Havoc shook his head silently, his eyes fastened, dull and horrified, on the body on the slab. 'There's nothing wrong with me,' he murmured at last, his voice cracked as if he had been screaming for hours. 'I was only a few paces away, and there's nothing wrong with me, but he...' He waved a hand uselessly at Ed's body, his face blanching even further until Ed wondered if there was any blood left in him or if it had all drained away. His shirt had more colour than his cheeks, and he winced as Havoc swayed faintly where he sat.

Roy had pulled over another chair and slumped into it, as if all his strength was spent in the simple motion. His face wore an ill-fitting mask in Havoc's presence, his features no longer pinched with pained disbelief, but clumsily controlled. There were cracks in that façade, but Havoc seemed too wretched to notice. Ed knew survivor's guilt far too well, and he could see the shadows of it eclipsing the lieutenant's expression.

'Why did it kill him and not me?' he whispered at last. 'The light went through him and just... pushed me aside.' Havoc was wringing his hands in his lap, nicotine stained fingers knitting together in unconscious distress.

'Where did it even come from?' Roy asked, voicing a question instead of anything remotely like an answer. 'By the time we got there the alchemy was already fading. The light reached us in the front hall, but it was nothing more than fog.'

'The painting.' Those two words were voiced in firm, undeniable tones, and Ed watched as Havoc finally dragged his eyes away from the body and met Roy's gaze. 'The boss knew there was something in that room. He was looking at everything – could smell the alchemy – but there was nothing there.' Havoc's chin rose, and Ed realised the lieutenant was defending him. 'Whatever Mason did, it can't have been normal alchemy, or Ed would have seen it well before it went off.'

Roy nodded, but Ed didn't miss the brief flicker of deeper guilt. Roy thought Ed had missed something, had stepped stupidly into the middle of an array he should have seen, and part of Ed could only agree with him. Havoc was giving him way too much credit. He should have run from that room the second he recognised the red stone in the middle of the portrait. Instead he had stood there and let it work its power. If he'd just looked a bit harder, he could have worked out that the pendant wasn't as innocent as it seemed...

Now he was stuck like this, not alive and not dead either, watching people grieve and feeling sick with their pain.

'What happened?' Havoc asked at last, scrubbing a hand briefly over his eyes and sniffing sharply, as if he was trying to hide the tears that gleamed behind his lashes. 'I don't remember much of it.'

Roy licked his lips, and Ed could see that his hands were clasped tightly together, palm to palm and fingers entwined as if he did not want to recall anything of the past few hours. His answer was a long time coming, and when he did speak, the hurt in his voice was clear to anyone. Perhaps he didn't want to hide it from Havoc, but Ed didn't think it was a conscious choice. Roy's voice was like that because he couldn't conceal his pain, not because he wanted it to be on show.

'We were in the servant's wing when we heard a shout, probably you when you were struck aside by the alchemy. We raced back through the house, through power that was just a haze and nothing else. It went out when we got to the ballroom.' He hesitated, and Ed watched his lips twist in a grimace as he forced himself to continue. 'We found you first, and you told us Ed was over by the painting. At first I thought he was just stunned or unconscious. It was Hughes who noticed he wasn't breathing.'

'You did mouth-to-mouth? CPR?'

The question floated in the air like broken glass, sharp and hurting, and Ed winced as he saw Roy expression go slack. For a minute he thought Mustang might faint, but after a second he managed a movement; the smallest possible shake of his head. 'I – I didn't think...'

Havoc looked wretched. He was already reaching out a hand, shaking his head as if he wished he hadn't asked, but it was Ed who stepped forward, not caring if neither of them could hear him.

'It wouldn't have done anything,' he snapped, waving a hand back at his body. 'Can't you see that? It's not just a stopped heart and no breathing. Mason didn't just kill me, he changed something. You could have breathed into me for a week and it wouldn't make any difference!'

But his words fell on deaf ears, and now he could see Roy's shoulders were hunched and curled, as if he was trying to block out the rest of the world. His breathing had taken on a sharp, ragged quality, and Havoc was out of his seat in a second, both his hands grasping Roy's shoulders: a friend, not a subordinate.

'It probably wouldn't have worked,' he said quickly, giving Roy a gentle nudge to make sure he was listening. 'It hardly ever does, especially if you don't know how to do it properly.' Havoc licked his lips, no doubt trying desperately to find something to ease the vice of guilt Ed could sense closing its sharp jaws around Roy's body, but he didn't seem to have any words to help.

'You would have done it, if you had been able,' Roy managed to rasp, tunnelling his fingers through his hair. 'Anyone else would have done it.'

'There were five other people there,' Havoc pointed out forcefully. 'You weren't the only one who didn't think of it, and it's no fucking surprise. You know what the army is like. There's no time for life-saving on the battlefield. At best we're trained to stop the blood and haul them back to the medical tent.' He sounded fierce, determined to make an excuse for what Roy clearly felt was a dire failing.

Even now, Ed could see the "what if's" floating around Roy's head, as if the man seriously believed that first aid could have somehow undone Mason's work and brought Ed back to them. Delicate tremors were turning the steady line of Roy's shoulders into a shaking horizon, and the shudder was transmitting itself into Roy's hands, which clenched where they rested at his own temples.

Quickly, Ed turned around, searching the morgue frantically for inspiration. There had to be something he could do to get them to realise he was still here. Couldn't ghosts throw things around, or break stuff or something? He had to get Roy out of this and spur him into action. He had to get Roy thinking of a solution rather than lingering on the problem – to show him there was an alternative to grief and a graveside. He didn't even know how long he had. Would Mason's alchemy keep him in this state forever, or would he start to fade after a while? And what about his body? How long did he have before that was useless to him, a home too dilapidated to support life any longer.

He narrowed his eyes at the corpse, his heart sinking as he realised it could already be too late. Human flesh was delicate. Only a few minutes without oxygen would turn his brain into so much useless mush and transform his internal organs into nothing but necrotic tissue. Hours had already passed since Mason's alchemy had worked its power, and Ed knew enough about biology to know that was too long.

The squeak of the door made him look up again, and he saw Hughes, arms folded and eyes downcast as he walked into the room. Both Havoc and Roy kept staring at Ed's body, as if they couldn't bring themselves to look away. Hughes was the opposite. He didn't look at the slab or acknowledge what lay on it in any way. Instead he seemed to gaze at everything else, from the floor to the ceiling to the trays full of medical instruments.

'It's morning,' he murmured, his jaw moving strangely as he struggled to get the words out. Ed could see the red blotches of tears on his face, and his skin looked drained and papery. 'You've been in here all night, Roy.' He looked like a man bracing himself for a war, and when he spoke again it was in nothing but a whisper. 'It's time to go.'

Roy looked as if Hughes was asking the impossible. He sat, lifeless himself, in the dilapidated chair, his hands now slack and useless on his knees. He did not move voluntarily, and Ed did not miss the pained, grieving look that shot between Hughes and Havoc. Gently, they both reached down, easing Roy to his feet with caring hands and meaningless murmurs of comfort. Yet Roy did not allow himself to be led away. Instead he just stared at Ed's body as if it were part of himself lying there dead.

'What about Al?' Roy asked at last. 'You'd be better off taking care of him, not me.'

'He's in your office,' Hughes replied in a hoarse voice. 'Hawkeye is watching over him, but we need you to come with us.' Ed watched him chewing on his lip, as if Maes was unsure which words were best left unspoken. 'He's falling apart, and we can't keep him together without you. Please, Roy.'

Ed's chest went bright with pain, and he felt the blood he didn't have drain from his face. 'You've told _Al_?' he demanded, throwing his hands up in the air before dragging them through his hair. It was like shouting at the wall, no one heard him, but he carried on anyway. 'You told my little brother I'm dead?'

Part of him whispered that of course they had; how could they not? As far as they were concerned they had nothing to suggest he was anything else, but Ed still shook at the thought of Al's reaction to this. "Bad" didn't cover it. He had to find him, talk to him. Maybe the others couldn't hear him, but he and Al shared more than just blood. They'd been through everything together. Al would sense him where the others saw nothing but empty air.

Dimly, Ed realised Hughes was still talking, mentioning something about Mason's place, about duty and responsibility, as if he knew they were the only words Roy could comprehend. At last, Mustang managed a small nod, his movements sluggish as he finally turned away and his leaden footsteps echoed across the morgue.

Something tightened under Ed's ribs; a sharp hook of pressure that tugged at his heart and stretched painfully as Roy walked away. A distant growl trembled on the edge of his hearing, making him flinch, and ice cold fear ran down his spine. He didn't think Mason's daughter could follow him here, back to the real world, but that didn't mean she wasn't waiting for him.

The morgue remained solid around him, a place of sanctuary, but when Hughes opened the door Ed could see that the corridor beyond was hazy and veiled, as if he couldn't see it properly. The colours were drained to shades of grey, and vague, foggy tendrils shifted this way and that. Somehow, he knew he had to move. If the others left without him, he'd be stuck here, unable to navigate the hallways without their presence to act as a guide. If he tried – if he stepped out there and got lost – then he didn't trust himself not to somehow walk straight back into Mason's world and the waiting clutches of his starving creation.

Surging forward, Ed sprinted across the morgue, wincing as the doors swung shut in his face. Instead of stopping, they moved straight through him in a wave of coldness. A chemical taste lingered in his mouth from their passing, and he pulled a face as he stumbled onwards, lunging after Roy.

In a few quick steps, Ed was back at his side, and like a bubble popping around him, colour and sound rushed back in, bright and sharp. The corridors came into focus, making him blink at the abrupt clarity as a tentative theory began to form in his mind.

Ghosts haunted things that had been familiar to them in their life time, or so people said, and whether Ed liked it or not, some off that lore probably applied to him. His body in the morgue acted like an anchor, making the alien room somewhere he could stay with ease. People he knew, like Roy, did the same, although he didn't know if Hughes or Havoc would have the same effect. As long as he stayed close, he could walk through strange places without a problem.

Gradually, the hallways became more familiar, and the world seem to solidify further around him, taking on scents and textures to his invisible form. Small details, like the scuff marks on the skirting board solidified in his vision, and as they walked towards the office, Ed could almost believe it was a normal day. This was the world he was used to, and only he had changed.

It was Hughes who pushed open the door, leading the way into rooms Ed had spent more time in than not. The fragrance of paper and stale coffee assailed him, but the atmosphere, normally one of busy efficiency, was flat and hollow. Breda was making coffee, his normally friendly face haggard and slack, while Falman sat by one of the phones. Yet Ed doubted the man would hear it ring. His eyes were unfocussed and distant, while a sad frown pinched his brow.

Looking towards Roy's office, Ed noticed that the door was wide open, and he quickly paced over, safe in this native place. He knew these rooms too well to lose his way. Besides, as much as Roy's presence was like the moon pulling on his tides, Al's was the sun, burning into every sense he had with his presence.

Ed almost didn't notice Hawkeye standing helpless vigil near where Al sat on the couch. She looked utterly lost, as if they were miles out of their depth. Yet as much as their distress made Ed ache, it was Al that tore him apart.

His little brother sat in a hunched shape on Roy's sofa, his fingers clutched numbly around a blanket that someone had draped over his shoulders. The weak morning light and the flicker of the fire in the grate cast wraiths across his pallid skin, and as Ed darted around the furniture and dropped to his knees before him, he noticed the dark shadows resting beneath blood-shot, glazed eyes.

'Al?' Ed couldn't stop himself reaching out and brushing his fingers down Al's tear-stained cheek. Yet there was no response, no flicker of recognition, no abrupt attention, only a vacuous stare, as if Al was already looking into the next world. He wasn't even shivering at the chill. Instead his lips twisted, wobbling in that way they used to when he had been five and trying not to cry, and Ed's heart broke as he saw tears gather anew behind Al's lashes, gleaming like quicksilver.

'Shit, Al. I'm -' Ed shook his head, wishing he could explain. Wishing someone in this entire fucking place could hear him so that they knew there was something of him left to save. But it was useless. In the end all he could say was, 'I'm so sorry.'

Al closed his eyes, screwing up his face as the tears plummeted over and carved fresh lines down his ravaged face. His shoulders trembled, his breath stuttered, and Ed cursed because there was nothing he could do. Roy, at least, had felt the chill – had looked up at his touch – even if he couldn't see anything there. Al was too far gone for that. Grief and agony distanced him, and Ed's heart bled for his brother's torment.

A meaty hand reached out in the corner of Ed's vision, and he shuffled over, still on his knees, so that Breda wouldn't walk straight through him. The older man was reaching out, clumsily gripping Al's shoulder before taking his hand and curving his fingers around the handle of the mug. Steam floated up from the rim, and Ed caught the scent of hot, strong coffee as it permeated the air.

'Try and drink some,' Breda urged, his eyes pinched with sympathy. 'You've not slept, and you're freezing cold. Please, Al.' He sounded so desperate, and looking at his brother, Ed could see why. It wasn't just the tears and the pallor; there was something disconnected about Al – distant and dim – as if he was already stepping away from a life where Ed was gone.

Footsteps made Ed lift his head, gazing over Al's shoulder toward the door. He just caught the expression on Roy's face, a blight of guilt, grief and horror that intensified as his gaze fell on Al's hunched form. For a brief second, Ed wondered if Roy would actually turn tail and run, but as if Roy had plucked his thought from the air, he found some element of resolve. Those broad shoulders straightened, and Roy's chest swelled as he dragged in a deep, bracing breath and approached Al's side.

This time, Ed didn't move quick enough, and he flinched as Roy walked through his shoulder. The intense feeling of wet heat was bizarrely intimate, and he heard Roy's pulse thud comfortably in his ears: a brief rhythm that made Ed ache at the absence of something similar in his own veins.

Abruptly, the feeling was gone, and Roy sat down next to Al, one hand clenched absently around his right leg as if the muscles were cramping. For a little while, Roy did not say a word, but when he finally spoke the softness of his voice was modulated with something strong and determined.

'I'm taking Hughes and Hawkeye back to Mason's house,' he said, clearly watching Al's face for some sign of awareness. 'We need to know what's in there, and how to stop it from hurting anyone else. If you would rather stay here then I understand, but we could use your help.'

Ed knew Al too well to miss the moment when focus returned. Yet the warm wash of Al's usual kindness was gone from that gaze. Instead it was a blank stare, lit only with a dire gleam of conviction. 'I need to know what happened to my brother,' Al replied at last, the words cracking in his dis-used voice. 'I don't care about anyone else.'

Ed winced, wishing he could believe Al was just trying to answer the questions that lingered in his mind, but there was something familiar in those words that made him shiver. Al didn't want knowledge for its own sake. He planned to put it to use, and Ed wished he couldn't imagine life if their places were reversed. He would be there, not as calm, not as quiet, but still needing the same thing. He would need to know, not so that he could move on, but so he could work out how to undo what had been done and bring his brother back.

A self-depreciating grimace twisted on Ed's lips. All those years of swearing they had learned their lesson, that they'd never do it again, but now they were actually in the situation it turned out he and Al were no better than they had been as boys. For some things, they would challenge the universe, and Ed knew that if he didn't figure out how to tear Mason's alchemy apart, then it wouldn't be long before Al was offering himself up to the Gate for some hollow shadow of consolation.

Roy knew it too, Ed could see that in the set of his shoulders, but what Ed noticed in those dark eyes was not what he had expected. Rather than censure, there was understanding. Rather than horror, there was resolution. If he didn't know better he would think that Roy agreed with Al's idea.

Yet even this – this twisted purpose – was better than the numb silence that had wrapped Al in its chrysalis. At least now, Al looked alive, if only a shadow of his former self. Everyone else had offered him comfort and sympathy, but Roy had given him what he needed: a course of action, even if it was a road better left untravelled.

Stiffly, Roy nodded, not bothering to put words to his agreement as he got to his feet and began giving the others orders. 'Falman, you stay here with Breda and keep the office going. Alex is looking into the old family histories for more information about Mason for me, but he might get back to the office before we do.'

'What about me?' Havoc asked, folding his arms over his chest, and Ed watched Roy's eyes flicker up to the bandage around the lieutenant's head. Havoc needed to be resting, but the stubborn set of his jaw told its own story. He wasn't about to lie back and do nothing, and Ed frowned as Roy rubbed at his stubble before pulling Havoc aside, out of the earshot of everyone else in the room.

Briefly, Ed was torn between staying with Al and hearing what Roy was telling the lieutenant. In the end, he had to compromise, keeping Al in his line of sight and cocking his head to pick out Roy's soft murmur. If anyone else thought it was suspicious, they said nothing about it, but Havoc's expression was growing more shuttered as he tried to hide his concern.

'– Said they'd wait three days, but I can't be so sure they will. Just keep an eye on Ed's body for me.'

'Why,' Havoc asked, glancing back over at Al before straightening his shoulders. 'Planning on using it for something?'

Ed raised an eyebrow at Havoc's bravery. Normally he was the first to obey orders and leave the thinking to others, but clearly he had been underestimating the man. Right now he was staring Roy down, tense and nervous, expecting a reprimand for the insubordination, but unwilling to back down all the same.

'No, I just –' Roy shut his eyes for a moment before shaking his head. 'Just do it, please?' He didn't make it an order, but Ed knew that was the next stage of the conversation. He could see it in the hardening lines of Roy's face and the clench of his fists, but Havoc didn't give him the chance.

'Yes, sir.' He sounded like he was accepting the instruction under duress, and Ed wondered how long it would be before Roy's men were talking among themselves, their grief bleeding into concern for the two alchemists that remained at the core for the group. The potential to break the rules was always there for alchemists. The temptation to push the boundaries was stronger at some times than others. Would Roy's men understand this was one of those times? Would they see the any effort as what it was – a scream of despair – rather than a criminal act?

'Thank you,' Roy murmured, his shoulders relaxing again as he gestured for Hawkeye and Hughes to follow him. 'We're taking the radios from intelligence to stay in touch. If we don't check in, Hughes' men know to come looking.'

Al had risen clumsily to his feet, the blanket still clutched around his shoulders like a cape, but now his step was more of a stride than a shuffle as he followed Roy and the others out of the room. Ed had only a moment to take in the anxious, crumpled faces of Roy's remaining men before he was forced to follow, dragged along like a piece of driftwood in the wake of a great ship. Part of him knew that it was necessary to leave, but the office felt like sanctuary, and he ached as he stepped across the threshold.

A car was already waiting for them as they moved down the steps at the front of the building, and Ed noticed the others shiver and their breath steam in the air. He assumed it was because of the weather, rather than his presence, but he couldn't feel the air around him. It was as if he was already wrapped in a shroud – cocooned from the real world by his misty skin.

With a wince, he realised he would have to sit in the middle between Al and Roy, who appeared to have decided to share the back seat. He lunged into the car before Roy could get in, not relishing the thought of having to climb through him, but that just meant he was pinned between Roy and Al, both so warm and living right at his shoulders, overlapping his uncertain outline. They both flinched away, but it seemed to be a subconscious thing, and Ed could still feel them, far too close in this seat that was really too small for three grown men to occupy side-by-side.

Closing his eyes, Ed clenched his jaw, feeling the quiet loathing for Mason and his alchemy begin to boil. It had been there all along, pooled deep in his gut, but now the shock of what had happened was starting to wear off, and Ed could feel the hard burn of all that old, familiar anger find its target and start to seethe.

A gasp from Hawkeye made his eyes snap open, and he saw her staring into the rear view mirror, her eyes meeting his and her face turning ghastly, blank white.

Excitement leapt in Ed's body, and he leaned forward, his voice urgent. 'Hawkeye, can you see me?'

But the lieutenant had shut her eyes, screwing them up tight and running a hand through her hair. After a moment, she returned her gaze to the mirror, and Ed saw the disappointment pinch her reflection's features as her eyes slid straight over his image, unseeing.

'Are you all right?' Hughes asked from where he sat in the passenger seat, a worried frown pulling his brow.

'Yes, I – I think I'm just tired.' Her voice was trembling softly, and Ed's shoulders slumped as she shook her head to herself and put the car into gear before pulling away. However, he did notice her gaze flickering to the rear view mirror more than necessary, as if she were desperately searching for him.

Chewing his lip, Ed wondered what had caused that. Had it been the anger? They said most paranormal activity was down to angry ghosts, but Ed had never thought to lump himself into that category. Grimly, he tried to recreate the sudden flash of rage, but it was hopeless. His anger was too stable, too deliberate, and eventually Hawkeye turned her attention more fully back to the road, her lips twisted and miserable.

The intervening distance between headquarters and Mason's house sped by in silence. No one voiced a word, though the atmosphere in the car was thick and dark. More than once Ed caught Hughes casting concerned glances back towards Al and Roy, and it was impossible not to see the genuine fear in those green eyes. He was afraid for them, and where the future might take them. It just made Ed realise that he hadn't been imagining Roy's understanding of Al's unvoiced plans.

A shudder worked through Ed's body at the thought. Al handing himself over to the Gate would be bad enough, but Roy? A month ago he would have believed the idea incomprehensible, but now he had his doubts. The man sitting at his corpse's side in the morgue was not the strong alchemist Ed knew. It was a different creature all together. One he couldn't begin to predict.

Fuck, but he had to figure out what Mason had done to him. There had been times before when he had see his own death clear and sure on the horizon, but he had never quite thought beyond his own personal dread to see what the others might feel in his absence. Al's reaction was expected, understandable, but the others? He'd never thought they'd be like this.

His thoughts were interrupted when the house came into view, and Ed clenched his teeth as something – a primitive instinct of warning – crawled up his spine. Last night that building had been nothing but bricks and fading splendour. Now it looked far more ominous, even with the innocuous sunlight throwing it into relief. The dark windows seemed more brooding, and as the car drew up to the front door, he could see moving shadows mottling the stonework, waltzing beneath his gaze.

The others reacted like there was nothing untoward about it, and Ed grimaced as he realised that he was probably seeing something different than they were. It made sense, after all. This was the true entrance to whatever realm Mason's daughter occupied. Living people probably couldn't see it, but he – whatever he was – could.

As soon as he was out of the car, Ed felt his leg muscles tense. Everything in him was screaming not to enter that house, but he was not about to leave Roy and the others to face it alone. He was pretty sure Mason's daughter couldn't hurt them, but he wasn't about to take that chance. Besides he needed to know what the mad lord had done. If only so he could save Al and Roy from the potential of their self destruction.

Clenching his jaw, he walked forward in Roy's footsteps. Ed would have to be blind not to notice the reluctance that swarmed through the group. Hawkeye and Hughes wasted no time – their guns were already out, and a flame jumped to life in Roy's hands. Al had left the blanket in the car, and Ed watched his brother's hand clench into fists, ready to fight whatever he found. There was a hard glint in his eyes as he stared at the house, as if he longed to tear it down brick-by-brick, but Ed saw the urge quashed as they inched up the steps and into the front hall.

Their boots crunched on grit – all that remained of the lock after Ed's alchemy the night before – yet where there had been nothing visible to the eye back then, now Ed could see great, dead veins of power in the floor. Old arrays, wiped clean long ago, that still left phantoms of themselves on the tiles.

The others moved over them without paying any attention, probably unable to see them at all, but Ed took a moment to scan the sigils and lines, the curve and twist of it all as his stomach clenched. Mason had been dabbling in the dark side of alchemy for years, at least if this montage was anything to go by. Ed could see the evolution of the man's work, from something clumsy and tentative to broad, strong lines, sweeping in confidence. Yet none of them were his masterpiece, and Ed pursed his lips as he hurried after Roy.

'This way,' Roy said softly, leading them through the living room and towards the ballroom. As soon as they stepped through the door, it was like being hit in the face. Alchemy stank in the air, bright and visceral, but it was like afterburn: a fresh ghost of transformation. Ed could see every line and curve of it, leaping through the air as the tangle of energy had left behind a web of lines.

Ed blinked, wincing in disbelief as he stared around the walls. Most of the paintings were totally obscured by light and mist. Only the daughter's portrait remained still visible, and Ed glared at that serene face, half-expecting it to come to life. Had she always been smiling that way?

Slowly, Ed dropped his eyes to the necklace on her throat, stepping away from Roy's side as he tried to get a closer look. What had, before, been just a knot of lines was now so obviously an array. Now he knew what he was looking for, he was amazed he had missed it. There had been a red stone stuck in its centre, and Ed frowned as he saw nothing but deadened black. The power was gone. It had kept the array going for so long, a baited trap ready to spring again and again, but the damn thing had finally ran out of juice.

He was the daughter's last meal.

Shaking his head, Ed shoved the thought aside, keeping one eye on the strangely shifting fog as he allowed his mind to take apart the tangle of Mason's design. Within moments, he knew something was missing. The tiny little array on the painting was like a trigger. Its job was to set off something much bigger, but that was the kind of thing Ed couldn't have possibly missed. He would have noticed standing in something so obvious, so where was it?

At last, his gaze fell to the floor, taking in the star and circles patterns of the marble, the obvious images that leapt instantly to mind. At first glance, there was nothing there at all, but then Ed blinked, and it was as if the world shifted focus. There, not on the coloured designed but crafted oh-so-subtly into the white marble that formed the background, was the vaguest sweep of a circumference.

'Shit.'

Ed's whispered words barely stirred the silence of the room, but he didn't care. He was already prowling closer, his eyes straining to pick out the rest of the design. His gaze wanted to catch on the brightly coloured dummy designs, but he bullied himself to concentrate.

A weak grin tugged on Ed's lips, torn between disbelief and admiration for the man who had created this. He might hate Mason for what had happened to him, but this – this was impressive. A sigh ghosted through Ed's lips, and he picked his way over the details quickly as his stomach thrilled with butterflies of dread and exhilaration. Mason might be mad, but he had also been a kind of genius. On its own, the big array wouldn't work. Without the pendant, it would never rip another person's life energy from their body and dump it at the daughter's feet, but as he began to comprehend the nuances of the design, Ed felt something like relief course through him. Mason had fucked up Ed's life, but Ed still had his intelligence, and he could put it to good use.

He recognised this configuration of arrays, and even as his mind stumbled over precisely what Mason had been getting at with his design, the first sliver of understanding cut through his mind like a knife blade of light, and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

The design in the painting and on the floor had been working in counterpoint, harmonising and supporting each other as they worked their power. The trigger had provided the energy to get it going, the red stone in its centre giving it the jolt it needed, while the image on the floor, almost invisible and painfully, beautiful subtle, had removed the energy, the life force of humans that created red stones in the first place, and plunged it through into that other realm.

Ed gnawed on his bottom lip, his heart trembling slightly beneath his ribs as he continued to read the story set out on the floor. There were more designs to this cascade. There weren't just a pair. He could see hints of their presence within the symbols and curves of Mason's work. Without seeing the other arrats, he would never understand the full story, but where had the bastard put them?

His heart sank like a stone as the obvious answer burned across his consciousness. Arrays dumped alchemists at the Gate by default, when they meddled with things they shouldn't, because that was the source of alchemy's power. Mason needed something in the daughter's realm to guide the energy to the right place. Somewhere in amongst all that malevolent mist was another clue to the puzzle, and Ed swallowed tightly as he realised what he had to do.

He had to go back.

**End of Chapter Three**


	4. Interlude

**Warnings: Angst and language**

_A/N: Last time out several people asked for Al's POV, and I am nothing if not obliging. This was not in the original plan, but I did my best :D Thanks, everyone, for reading!_

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><p><strong>Counterpoint – Interlude<strong>

Al strode up the steps into Mason's mansion, his skin locked in an icy grasp. It was like being in the armour again, except back then he still had Ed at his side. Now, Al was deeply aware of the black sink hole at the centre of his being. It was as if everything in him that was alive – guts, lungs and bloody, beating heart – had been torn from him and left in a pile at his brother's side at the morgue. None of it mattered, anyway. How could it, when he could barely feel his own pulse in his cool, clammy skin?

He knew, as well, that there was something jagged and sharp lurking in his mind, ready to tear him apart the moment he stopped and let his thoughts overwhelm him. It would consume him whole, more awful than the fear at waking up to find his brother missing two limbs and dying at his side; more wretched than the endless, interminable surgery for Automail, where Ed's strength could finally have failed. Still, at least then there was hope and the chance of survival.

This time...

The image of his brother on the slab rose in his mind again, and Al found himself swaying in the entrance hall, ignorant of sheet-draped chandeliers and stony pillars around him. It was too hard to connect the person he had been just a few hours ago with this, now. It felt like he had taken a wrong turn in the path of his life, or woken up in a nightmare. It was still so hard to grasp that all this was real!

'This way.' The general's soft voice slipped through the closing shroud of Al's panic and grief, letting in a faint chink of purpose. He had seen the others, people he would call his friends, standing around like helpless shadows, offering sympathy that was a cutting blade. It was Mustang who had given him a reason to move – to keep going – at least for now.

Except he couldn't feel grateful, couldn't feel anything beyond the steady sink of disbelief and the flood and ebb of misery. Part of him, violent and vicious, wanted to place the blame. There had been moments when the visceral need to lash out had almost overwhelmed him, and Roy felt like the right target – the only thing left to hit. If his brother had just been hurt, Al would stand at his bedside and yell, because even now he knew Ed too well to believe anyone could really control him, but even this Mason person wasn't around to tear apart. That just left Roy, who had given the order that took Ed away.

His breath hitched in his throat, which closed hard around another sharp, hard knot of despair caught beneath his larynx. What could he even say? Rationally, he knew Roy was no more responsible for this than anyone else, but logic wasn't helping him now. He felt too distant from it, as if the laws of the real world ceased to make sense the moment Ed was gone. More than anything, Al wanted to turn back time. He wanted to flip back twelve hours and somehow make sure that this never happened, but that was beyond him.

And so he was here, looking for clues about the alchemy that had torn his brother from them and letting his mind's orbit fall steadily closer to the beacon of hope: human transmutation.

Ed would kill him if he knew what he was considering. Of that, Al was sure. He would ask if they had learned nothing about the stone – remind him that it would never work and of all that could be lost – but right now Al couldn't think of any price that was too high. His life in exchange for Ed's? Done. An eternity in armour? Absolutely. He would take that any day over the gaping hole at his side that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Part of him knew it probably wouldn't work. He had never really seen what the Gate had given them of their mother, and every time he asked Ed, he would go pale and tight-lipped. His only response had been "nothing human". But they had been children when they made that array: confident in all the wrong ways. Now he was older, maybe he could do it right. Maybe he could bring his brother back?

Maybe he'd die trying.

Dimly, he was aware that thought should fill him with some kind of fear, but there as nothing there except the steady, slow ache like he was rotting from the inside out. He tried to imagine his sorrow leaving him, fading over time as the memories of his brother lost their colour and the world moved on, but he couldn't get his head around the thought. He could not understand how he could ever feel like his old self again: the simple equation of Al minus Ed was impossible to solve.

No, he could not go through life like that. He would tear this house apart looking for clues if he had to. This Mason had been playing with things he shouldn't. Hawkeye had told him all she could while he sat, numb and blank, in Roy's office. She probably thought he hadn't been listening, but the simple tether of her words had kept him present, not exactly alert, but at least there.

Mason had definitely been performing human transmutations of some kind, and Al knew they would find answers here. Quickly, he struggled to focus outwards, looking away from the darkness inside and taking in the house around him. He had followed Roy and the others almost blindly, and now they stood in a vast ballroom, opulent even in its decay.

Paintings covered the walls, and at the far end of the room a picture of a beautiful woman was framed in gold. She wasn't very old, maybe Al's age, or there about, with curls around her face and alabaster skin. She looked almost ethereal, and Al narrowed his eyes distrustfully as he started taking in the details.

'We found him here, in front of the portrait,' Roy murmured, gesturing to a small patch of blood against the wall. 'Havoc was thrown aside and hit his head but was otherwise left unharmed.'

Al nodded once in understanding, not bothering to vocalise a reply as he cast his gaze around the room. He might not be as experienced as Ed when it came to the games alchemists played, but he still had a fair idea. People tended to forget that he had been right at Ed's shoulder for all those years. It slipped their minds that he had seen almost everything, despite Ed's best efforts to protect him from the worst of it, and the knowledge bred an uncomfortable familiarity with the way certain minds worked.

Clumsily, he made his way over to the large, mouldering curtains that covered the windows, shoving them asides and letting the sunlight pour into the room. Dust motes danced in the air, disturbed from their rest by the intrusion, and the details of the room were set free from the sheltering twilight.

The Masons had alchemy in their blood. Al didn't need to see a family tree to know that. It was everywhere. Fake arrays in the floor tiles and across the walls – even engraved in the furniture. They were showing off about their power, and Al felt his lip curl in sudden hatred for the family. He would bet they had never thought of helping people with their talents. No, they'd use their alchemy as a threat – nothing obvious, just that lingering potential for destruction.

Eventually, he turned back towards the woman's picture, his eyes falling on the pendant around her neck. From this distance, it looked like the canvas had got wet. There were stains around it – grimy lines as if it had been left out in the rain – yet the closer Al got, the more he realised that water had not caused the damage. The paint had been burned and blistered, as if someone had snuffed out a cigarette over the centre of the pendant.

The abrupt hiss of tyres on gravel outside, coupled by the graunch of a handbrake being put on in a hurry, was enough to make Al look over his shoulder. His eyebrow lifted as a pair of footsteps hurried towards them, and Havoc appeared through the doorway. His uniform was unkempt, as if he had simply thrown on his jacket and charged out of the door, but his expression was grim and determined.

'Lieutenant? I ordered you to stay at Central Command.' Mustang sounded more resigned than annoyed as Havoc stepped into the room.

Havoc's eyes flickered to Al before returning to Mustang's face with the faintest hint of apology. 'I was prevented from fulfilling your order, sir. I was assured by the coroner that your request would be heeded, but that no sentry was necessary.' He shrugged his shoulders, his mouth pulled into a faint, grim line. 'They kicked me out of the morgue, and I decided I would be of more use to you here rather than at the office. I was the closest when it happened.'

Mustang gave a minuscule shake of his head, rubbing a trembling hand across his brow before he turned away. Al wasn't sure if the quivering was about exhaustion or something else. None of them had slept after all, and what they were running on now was not adrenaline, it was helplessness. No one could face the thought of returning home and closing this chapter in their lives. It was too much like admitting defeat.

'Is anything different?' Al asked at last. His voice sounded strange in his own throat – too taut and strangled – but it got the message across. 'Anything out of place?'

At first, Havoc looked awkward, his eyes scanning the room as if he wasn't even sure he was in the right place. 'Daylight makes it look so normal,' he murmured as he approached the blood stain on the wall, bending to brush it with one hand before turning to look at the painting. In less than a heartbeat, his eyes had narrowed, a frown cinching his brow as he scowled up at the image.

'Her. The necklace around her neck had a stone it before. I remember thinking the paint was shining and then realising it was just something stuck on.'

'Can we get it down?' Al asked, turning to Roy.

'Can we get close enough?' Roy replied, his expression sympathetic. 'Ed was standing right in front of it when things went wrong. How do we know the same thing won't happen if we get near?'

Al almost snapped that he didn't care. The words were right there, teetering on the tip of his tongue and no doubt clear in his expression, but he bit them back, instead trying to focus on finding the reassurance they might need. The general was right. They didn't want to lose anyone else, and since they couldn't see the array that had done it, then there was no way to be sure that they couldn't be hurt.

'When Ed and me walked into the room, it reeked of alchemy. Now there's none of that.' Havoc gestured weakly around the chamber. 'It just smells like dust, nothing else.'

Before Al could utter a word, Havoc was striding forward, his boots echoing on the floor. It took no time at all for him to reach the wall on which the portrait hung, and Al let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He clearly wasn't the only one shocked by the lieutenant's actions. Hawkeye looked pale and pinched, while Roy's expression had turned thunderous.

'Don't you ever do that again, or I'll demote you.'

Havoc's jaw was set in a firm line, and even though he nodded in agreement, his words were still something like an excuse. 'We're scared enough of this place as it is, and we're not going to get any answers unless we try. Besides, it's not like there have been any screams or anything. It's almost like whatever was here last night has gone.'

Mutely, Al joined him, keeping his senses attuned for anything abnormal. Just because Havoc wasn't affected, didn't mean the area was safe. Yet there was nothing: no scent in the air and no drag of energy against his body. Whatever had been here before had run out of power, and the house was grave-quiet in its absence.

'Maybe this can answer some of our questions,' Al murmured, his lips twisting in a grimace as he and Havoc both heaved at the large frame that kept the portrait in its grasp. Havoc grunted under the weight, and they both stumbled as it began to tip. Only Hughes and Mustang's quick actions caught it before it hit the floor, and the four of them were left staring at the back of the canvas in surprise.

'What the hell are those?' Hughes asked, setting the huge frame down with a grunt and scratching the back of his head. 'Coordinates?'

Al chewed his lip, frowning down at the scribbled numbers on the back of the picture. He knew what those numbers were; he had spent too long in the library to be ignorant. 'It's a cataloguing system for books.' He pointed to the three digits followed by two more and separated by a decimal point. 'Most of these start with a number in the five hundreds, so they're alchemy books.'

'And the others?' Roy asked, edging closer to Al's shoulder.

Al hunkered down, running his fingers over the figures obsessively. 'Religion and philosophy.' He knew the bleak smile on his face was more nauseous than joyful. 'Most alchemists trying human transmutation dip into that section.' He moved his fingers over to the sets of three letters next to each number. 'This isn't official. More like Mason's own code. Could be the author's name or the title.'

'There's another number here,' Hawkeye said softly. Her gun was still clutched in her right hand, but she had hunkered down, her skirt riding up over her knees as her eyes skimmed the list. 'Nothing above about five hundred, and some are single digits. Do they mean anything to you?'

Al shook his head, his lips twisting in a grimace as he tried to take in the information. 'No idea. Could be a reference – a page number?' He shrugged, his fingers skimming lower until he came to the hole through the canvas. Even on this side, there were scorch marks, as if a tiny bulb had blown apart, and Al pulled off his gloves with his teeth, touching his fingers to the faint stain that lingered.

His hand shot back as he felt a faint heat against his skin. For a second, he thought he had activated something new, but the air remained still and silent. Roy and his men had frozen, completely still and braced for something to lash out at them, and they only relaxed a fraction when Al shook his head. 'I know this feeling: a philosopher's stone. There was one here.'

He brushed against the portrait again, briefly thoughtful. It felt like touching a dimming ray of sunlight: warm, but with a creeping chill to its edge. It was the first sensation to tremble along his numbed nerves for hours, and Al took strength from it, moving quickly to pry the painting up off the floor and prop it against the wall.

The painting was huge, and this close the proportions looked almost monstrous. The girl's chin was higher than Mustang was tall, but as pretty as she was, Al did not care about her face. He was too busy staring at her necklace and the small hole that burned through the centre. From a distance, the pendant looked like nothing special, but this close Al could see the delicacy of it, not a solid gold disc or a cluster of vines as he had first thought, but something far more alchemical.

Looking at someone else's work and unpicking their intention was always a challenge: like mind-reading in its own way, and Al had to admit he wasn't familiar with this kind of alchemy. There was no smooth, sweeping circle, but an organic, organised knot. The complexity was incredible, and Al cold see it had been painted with a painfully fine brush.

_Trigger._

He blinked, feeling the word slip through his brain, yet it was fire among ice, something that felt subtly wrong, and he found himself wondering if he had conjured the word himself, or heard it spoken from another's lips.

Glancing around, he took in the others. No one else was talking. Roy and Havoc had tilted the painting away from the wall slightly so that Hughes could diligently write down the numbers on the back in his notepad. Only Hawkeye stood close, her gun still drawn and her brown eyes cool as she surveyed the painting.

He almost parted his lips to ask her if she had heard anything in the still air around them, but the words died in his throat. He already knew the answer would be no. It had been a thought of his own – that was all. His mind was tired and fractured. He could feel it in the slip and jump of his considerations, like the jagged earth on two sides of a fault line. Besides, what else was there? Did he really think there was another person nearby, giving him the answers?

No, it was all written there in the array, a story surrendered to whoever found the right focus

'There's something else in here,' he said in a grating voice, squeezing his eyes tight shut for a moment, and it was only when he opened them again that he realised how ambiguous his statement was. Roy and his men looked tense and pinched, as if they were expecting a new presence to materialise out of thin air. 'Another array, I mean. The pendant was a trigger, and the philosopher's stone in its centre fuelled it. Its job was to send the power down to another design. Something nearby.'

His boots scuffed over the floor as he stepped back, scanning the faux designs and the clear marble for a hint of anything sinister. Dimly, he was aware of Roy giving orders, but Al barely heard him as he got down on his hands and knees, disturbing the dust as he tried to claw his way through the mire of misdirection the Masons had integrated into their home.

He searched until his eyes burned, pricking with the sharp salt of tears yet to be shed and the biting ache of exhaustion. His head felt too heavy for his neck, and the skin of his face seemed tight and drawn across his bones. Muscles shook with the effort of movement, but Al ignored it all. Since he had got out of the armour, he had treated his body with both joy and despair, relishing in its sensations, yet at this moment it was nothing but transport for his mind: a vessel for his thoughts and desperation.

After a while, he became aware that only he, Roy, and the ever present sentry of Hawkeye remained in the room. The general was mimicking Al's position, not caring about the grime on his uniform as he surveyed every little design. He had started at the halfway point of the hall, and Al had to admit that at least Roy knew what he was doing. He knew that the trigger had a maximum range, and he wasn't wasting his time by looking beyond it.

Not that it did them any good. Every piece they examined was the same: decoration by design, and Al felt the calm chill of his mood begin to twist and distort, mottling with rage and frustration. 'Where the fuck is it?'

He noticed both Hawkeye and Roy flinch at the unexpected curse that leapt from his lips, but he knew in a split second that it was not the profanity that caused offence. His voice, so rarely rough with anger, sounded just like Ed's in that moment, and the reminder was a slash of agony beneath his ribs that had him pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes as he tried to forced the threatening tears away. 'It's got to be here somewhere.'

No one commented on the shake in his voice, which was just as well. He didn't think he could take kindness from anyone right now. As it was, something like a snarl trembled in his throat when warm, long fingers encircled his wrists, pulling his hands away. Roy's dark eyes looked bottomless, the shadows beneath them making them look black, rather than blue. For a minute, Al thought he might say something trite, and his entire being rebelled at the thought – but he should have known better.

'Look at this,' Roy urged, releasing Al within seconds and gesturing to something on the creamy marble in between the regular pattern of fake arrays. 'I almost didn't see it, but there's a circumference here.' He traced the fingers of one hand over it in demonstration, and Al chewed his lip as he saw what Roy was getting at. it was cleverly done, hidden away beyond normal sight. Even now, Al's eyes tried to betray him, his focus slipping away and back again.

'How has that been done?' he asked in a whisper. 'He used the natural veins in the marble, or – ?'

'Or manipulated the stone with alchemy to make the markings show through,' Roy explained. 'It's a technique called Maltouche. I've seen it used before, but never successfully. It's unstable and dangerous, but I guess Mason thought it was worth it.'

'How are we meant to see the whole thing?' Al demanded, tunnelling his fingers through his hair as he looked back towards the painting. There was a good twenty paces of floor space between them, and the curve of the circumference was shallow, suggesting a big design. 'How can we tell what it did if we can barely pick it out?'

'Maybe this will help,' Hughes called out, his voice drifting through a set of double doors off to the left. Al had barely noticed they were there, but now he looked he could see a book-lined room beyond. Havoc and Hughes were both standing over a single tome, and in Havoc's fingers was a sheet of paper, its fold lines still sharp from its recent unfurling.

Al stumbled to his feet, his ringing footsteps becoming muffled as he stepped on to the deep pile of the rug. He had not noticed how hard his hands were shaking until he reached out, tweaking the page from Havoc's grip and staring at the lines inked on its surface. The design was a chaotic masterpiece. If its last victim had not been his brother, he would have found time to admire it, but now there was no such respect. Instead he found himself focussing on the flaws, picking apart the tangle while his lips wrenched in a hard line.

'This wouldn't have worked,' he said at last. 'It wouldn't hold a charge. There's too much going on. Too much – ' He made an aborted gesture with his free hand, knowing that Hughes and the others wouldn't understand. However, it seemed that comprehension was not completely necessary. Hughes was already going over to the book cases, consulting his notebook and pulling out the right volumes.

'That was in the first book on the list, and the last set of digits is a page number where the notes are hidden. Maybe we'll find the right answer in one of the others.' His smile was weak and frail, but faintly reassuring, and Al swallowed tightly as he got to work, practically ripping the books from their nests. Paper tore beneath his careless fingertips, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Time after time there were new pieces of parchment to pull free: a trail of breadcrumbs.

Some were blank dead ends, while others were nothing but the penned ramblings of someone who, even in his youth, seemed to have been far from sanity. Of the thirty seven books Mason had listed, only five contained actual designs, and when Al pulled the last one free, he blew out a breath of disbelief.

It wasn't a book at all, just a set of covers, their contents long ago cut free and replaced with a wedge of notes that were already starting to yellow around the edges. Now, Al's fingers gentled, and he pried them carefully free, lowering them to the large oak desk in the corner of the room and beginning to smooth out the roughly folded pages.

A lot of it was just blank padding, but as his fingers teased free the last sheet, he saw the smooth, confident curve of the ink through the paper. Gone was the clutter of design, the keening hope poured into a circle; this was more organised and cohesive. Complex and beautiful, even if its purpose was probably pure malice.

Al spread it out fully, feeling Roy's presence a respectful distance from his shoulder as they both leaned in for a closer look, trying to absorb the plethora of information the sketch had to offer. Yet it was still a challenge: whatever Mason had used was a far cry from the standard alchemy of every day lives. He had played with the rules, stretching them like elastic until his efforts looked more like magic than science and Al was left baffled and hopeless as he tried to comprehend what lay before him.

'Drains,' Roy said quietly, indicating two balancing sigils at either edge of the circumference, free from the tangled twists at its centre. 'These are energy drains.'

'This is like what we used to bring Mum back,' Al muttered, gesturing to the serpentine mass of organised knot-work in the centre. 'But not. The symbols are the same, but we worked in straight lines, not these.'

'Is he just making it difficult to understand?' Hughes asked from where he stood nearby. 'Hard to read?'

'No, no I think it has a purpose but –' Al's fingers wandered over the design with care, following the strings woven there. 'But this is only part of it. There must be more somewhere. There are dead ends in the alchemy, as if it flows somewhere else. But I – I don't understand.' He bowed his head, wishing he could focus the full extent of his mind on the puzzle in front of him, but it was as if the light of his intelligence had been extinguished, dampened and dulled by despair.

He didn't hear the soft whisper behind him, and only the smack of a book hitting between his shoulders had had him straightening up, jerking around in a clumsy stumble. Around him, Roy's men had frozen, their faces wiped clean by shock, each of them innocent and empty handed, and certainly not on the other side of the room, where the book had begun its flight.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence, but before Al could voice even a fractured sound of confusion, the air trembled beneath the weight of a screaming, triumphant roar. Immediately, he clapped his hands over his ears, closing his eyes tight as the sound increased, transmitting through his skin and making his ribs shake. Primal instincts from times long past sparked at the base of his brain, urging him to run from the predator he knew had to be nearby, but he couldn't get his feet to move. Instead he stood paralysed, clawing his eyes open to see a brief flash of inky shadow drift across the walls, plunging the entire house into gloom before the sun's rays reigned once more, streaming through the windows.

The dust that had been shaken loose from the ceiling gleamed in the light, and as Al warily lowered his hands, he could hear the tinkle of the crystal chandeliers as if, briefly, the whole house had shaken.

'It's not gone then,' Havoc whispered, wetting his lips with a nervous tongue as he slumped weakly back against the desk. 'That's the same thing that was screaming last night, isn't it?'

Roy nodded his agreement. 'Why did it stop? Last time it sounded angry, but that –' He shook his head, scrubbing his hands over his face as he struggled to grasp the few grains of knowledge they had. 'What the hell is going on in this place?'

Carefully, Al took a step forward, crouching down to peer at the book that had hit him in the back. His skin still smarted from the hard impact, and numb nerves raced from the shock of it. Even after what had happened to Ed, he didn't really believe the Mason place was haunted. Alchemy could explain a lot of things, but somehow he knew no array could have shot the book from the shelf across the room.

'Counterpoint: The harmony of alchemy.' His voice was soft as he spoke the title aloud, reaching out to grasp the volume. The dyed leather cover was faded, as if it had been handled again and again, and the pages were grimy with the oil of passing fingers and the occasional coffee stain. 'Was this one mentioned anywhere in the list on the back of the portrait?'

Hughes double-checked, shaking his head as he reached the bottom of his notes. 'Nothing there. Does it mean anything to you? Either of you?' he added, turning to include Roy.

'I thought counterpoint was a musical term,' Roy said with a jerky shrug, his shoulders still tensed and braced for an attack. 'Something about combining melodies?'

'In alchemy, it's about making a cascade of arrays work together,' Al murmured, skimming the pages. 'Brother and I touched on it a bit in our search, but we didn't really study it.' Another page fell open to his eyes, and he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he saw a simple trigger assembly. All through the margins were scribbled notes – Mason had not even bothered with code. It was all laid bare, how with the right amount of energy, two, three – even a dozen arrays could be activated and fuelled by a single trigger. There were various calculations about energy flow and preservation, and Al stared at them in disbelief, shaking his head to himself. It was ground-breaking, but what the hell had Mason been trying to do?

Looking up, he met Roy's gaze, noting the lingering uncertainty in the others. He had almost forgotten about the triumphant, hungry scream, and now he looked around the room, innocuous in the sunlight. 'Is it safe to stay here?' he asked, waving a hand vaguely at the house. 'I want to keep searching and see if I can find more of Mason's notes. I need to know – I need to know why this happened, not just how.'

'A book launched itself at you,' Havoc pointed out, his sweaty hands still shifting around the gun he'd drawn when the house began to tremble. 'That's not what I'd call safe.'

Al shrugged, closing the volume again and turning it to look at the spine. 'It's just – there's more going on here than just an accident, don't you see that? I need – ' Words failed him, his voice cracking and dying in his throat as he turned away. He couldn't find the strength to explain what was ricocheting around his head. He and his brother had spent too long walking the uncomfortable line between alchemy and the occult, and now he felt the strange, sloping sensation that perhaps not everything in this house was as it seemed.

Besides, if he was going to bring his brother back, then he needed to know everything. He couldn't afford to get it wrong.

'And if we tell you to leave, what then?' Roy asked, not quite keeping the challenging dread from his voice. 'Would you do as we ask, or would you make your way back here by yourself anyway?'

Al did not turn around, and couldn't bring himself to answer. Deep down, he knew Roy and the others were friends trying to protect him, but right now their presence was just as likely to become a hindrance as a help. They'd try and stop him. At least, he thought they would.

'Hughes, go and radio back to the office. Let them know we'll be here a little longer.'

Al looked up in surprise at Roy's order, a faint twitch of thanks curving his lips for a split second as Roy shrugged. 'We want answers too, Al. I just don't want anyone else getting hurt while we look for them. As soon as I say we leave this place, we go. No questions. Understand?'

'Yes, General. Thank you.'

Mutely, Al turned away again, bringing his attention back to the books that still lined the shelves, looking for anything more personal that might unravel Mason's motives and ambitions. He knew, deep down in his gut, that this house had a story to tell, and he planned to hear it. He had no choice, not if he wanted to reclaim Ed from the ravages of Mason's alchemy.

A few hours ago, Al's life had changed forever, and he knew that he couldn't go back to the way things were, not without his brother. Ed had sacrificed so much to get Al's body back; years of his life to assuage a guilt that they should have both shared. He had run himself to the bone in his search, and almost given his life to put things right.

Now it was time to return the favour.

**To Be Continued**


	5. Chapter 4

**Warnings: Angst, bit of gore, alchemy theory like WOAH and men kissing.**

_A/N: Right, so Al's Interlude messed up my POV pattern a bit, as such, Roy's getting passed over for Ed, who actually has stuff to do, rather than pure angst and misery XD Other bit of news is I'm not certain when the next update will be. I will endeavour to score one on **Sunday May 20th **but I cannot be sure._

_Finally, the alchemy explanation in this chapter is deliberately a bit fuzzy, because Ed might be a genius, but he is struggling a bit, what with being dead and a little out of the loop. Clarification will occur in later chapters. I promise._

_B xxx_

* * *

><p><strong>Counterpoint: Chapter Four<strong>

A fine, hot wire of anger wove its way through Ed's body as he watched his brother move. Gone was the grace of flesh restored. Grief made Al clumsy in a way he had not been for years. His face was pinched with pain and misery, the light of discovery barely shedding the shadows from his expression, and he moved around the library like an old man, dragging clues from the books on the shelves.

It should not be like this. With every passing second, that certainty boiled in the pit of his stomach like lava. This should never have happened, and he was damned if he would stand by helpless and watch his brother tear himself apart.

Telling Al about the trigger had been easy, if somewhat repulsive. His voice had no volume, even is he screamed in Al's ear, and desperation had driven him to bizarre lengths. Sticking his head inside Al's was something he did not want to repeat in a hurry. Even now, he shivered at the memory of blood and bone, and the spark of thoughts glancing like lightning all around him as he visualised the one word as hard as he could.

Within a heartbeat, he had been pushed out of Al's head again, weak and shivering, but it had been enough. His brother wasn't an idiot, and that one word was enough to give him something else to work on.

Now they all stood in the library, each figure defeated even as they continued to toil. Al was getting there, inch by inch, his voice grating over words about the flow of alchemy like he was too tired to even speak, but Ed could see the sparks of inspiration dying, falling apart as the mire of confusion consumed Al once more.

His face – it hurt to see him like that. Blank, staring eyes and slack lips, a tight knot of a frown on his brow and his fingers curled into weak fists on the desk. Al would get it eventually, Ed knew that, but his feelings were slowing him down, and they didn't have the time to waste waiting for the glimmer of genius to emerge once more.

Quickly, before reality could catch up and drain his strength, Ed reached out, snatching the book on counterpoint arrays from the shelf and hurling it across the room as hard as he could.

Even before it left his fingertips, he felt the power in his muscles drain. The edges of his vision turned hazy and dark, and the heartbeat he should not have drummed in his ears. Whatever he was, ghost or vapour or nothing but a memory, was not meant to interact with the real world. It could be done, he realised with a flicker of relief as the tome smacked Al between the shoulder blades, but obviously there were consequences.

A hot breath blew over the back of his neck, stinking of meat and hunger. It stirred his hair, and sent adrenaline rippling through him as, between one blink and the next, the library was gone.

Ed moved on instinct, diving and rolling to his left before whipping around, his Automail blade – so solid and real here – springing to life from his forearm. He was ready to fight, to carve the monster Mason had left here into pieces if he had to, but just like before, there was nothing to see. Every instinct warned him it was there, but the plane around him was as featureless as ever.

Violet mist roiled around him, seething up from the ground in towers as tall as trees only to collapse beneath their own weight, and the light came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making his eyes ache. A deep, steady breath was scented with ozone, like the air before a thunderstorm, and the floor beneath his feet felt like strange, slightly sticky rock.

Someone made a noise in the mist, a mocking, tutting sound that grated across his nerves, and he narrowed his eyes as he watched Mason's daughter walk out from the fog like an actress stepping out on stage. She was still painfully thin, dainty bones like those of a bird pressing against her skin. Her face was caught halfway between her animal form and her human one, giving her a wretched appearance, but she seemed to revel in it, her teeth making her lisp slightly as she spoke.

'So strong. You're the first one, you know. The first one to get back. Not that it did you much good.' She smiled, her teeth gleaming with drool as her eyes raked him up and down. 'Your world has moved on without you, and you've been left behind. Just accept it.'

'Lay down and bleed for you, you mean?' Ed snarled, his lips twisting in a sneer. 'You don't know what you're talking about. There's still space for me back there: people trying to work out what happened and how to get me back.'

Something flickered in her eyes, the first sign of true uncertainty he had really seen on her face, and Ed cocked his head, bringing all his focus to bear on the strange, twisted expression that contorted her features.

'You can't get out,' she hissed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. 'You can't get back to your own flesh and blood. It's already gone.'

Her eyes darted away from him, down and to the left, and Ed grinned. Just because he was dead did not mean his intelligence had faded. His mind was working at full speed, taking in everything that the woman in front of him was telling him with subtle movements and glances. He had not spent the best part of a decade standing in front of Mustang and failed to work out when someone was not telling the truth.

'Liar,' he murmured, narrowing his eyes as he shifted his weight forward, keeping his muscles braced to dive and roll. She would snap eventually. The hunger was still there, practically glowing through her skin, but right now there was a reason she was not fighting him for more food. He had given her a bit, enough to take the animal edge from her starvation. Now she was thinking with her mind, trying to get him to come to her so she would not have to battle him.

And that meant she was thinking, talking, trying to distract him, and he would make the most of it.

'I thought you were a victim of this. An innocent girl who ran into the middle of an array, just like you said, but that's not right, is it?' He saw her eyes widen a little, her lips parting as she frowned. It passed in a split-second, replaced with false innocence, but Ed was not going to be tricked again. 'Some of it was true. You were never meant to end up in here like this, but you knew what your father was trying to do. You know what he made and how it works.'

She leapt without warning, going from stationary to a sleek blur in the blink of an eye, but Ed was faster. His body knew how to fight and run, dodge and weave. Izumi had taught him well, and all the things he thought were hard-coded into his muscles had followed him here, lingering in the form he currently occupied.

His shoulder took the brunt of his weight as he leapt out of her way, springing back to his feet and slashing outwards, feeling his blade rake across her face. Her scream echoed through the air, making it pulse and writhe, but when she lifted her head there was no blood or cut, nothing to show he had ever hit home.

'You little shit,' she spat, the obscenity strange in her enunciated voice. 'My father spent his life on those secrets. You think I will help you get out?' She dipped her head, weaving on her feet like a snake preparing to strike. 'You are mine, and once I have you, I will be able to get back. I will be able to activate the arrays my father left behind and go home!'

She lunged again, and Ed dashed away, zig-zagging through the featureless landscape as his senses were flayed wide – searching down any trace of his pursuer while his mind raced. He should have realised straight off that she knew more than she was letting on. It was easy, back in the real world, to focus on Mason and his atrocities, but his daughter was not much better.

Theories jumped through his skull as he turned a hurried right angle, feeling the mist try to coil around him like solid snakes rather than ephemeral steam. The jumbled cacophony of information was almost impossible to put into some kind of neat order, but he tried his best as he sprinted blindly onwards.

Not everyone who went into that house died, and he would bet anything that Mason's arrays had only dragged alchemists through to become his daughter's dinner. Maybe it was something to do with their energy, their connection to the Gate, but she made it sound like she consumed more than just their life force.

She thought he could give her what she needed to get out, and that could not just be a matter of strength. There would have been times, closer to when she came here, when she would have been better-fed and more powerful. No, so what? His alchemy? Was there something in here that she would be able to activate that would spit her back out into the real world?

It was all about counterpoint arrays, and Ed hissed a curse as he examined the ground beneath his running feet. He had to find the design – had to get his head around this mess or he would never be able to undo Mason's work.

The bright slash of claws ripped his thoughts apart, and he cringed as sparks flew off his Automail arm, drawing bright gold fluid along the port. Mason's daughter purred at the sight, but Ed was already gone, flexing his shoulder to check it was all right as he charged onwards, kicking away wisps of obscuring fog as he went.

'Fuck,' he spat in annoyance, shaking his head as he ploughed on. How was he meant to find anything in this wreck of a place? There were times he could barely see his hand in front of his face, and the panting roars from behind him splintered his focus with too much ease. He did not want to pick a fight he was not sure he could win, especially when Mason's daughter grew stronger with every mouthful she took, but he needed to do something. He could be running around in circles for all he knew!

Darkness pounced and Ed whipped around, the Automail blade carving a bright arc of moonlight through the violet veils. This time, the impact was more solid. He heard bone snap, and a gasp of agonised pain as the body fell heavily to the ground, writhing there among the mist.

Blinking, he bullied his body into motion, already running again. He probably did not have long. She could heal herself. Maybe that took energy, or maybe it was this place doing it for her, but he had to make the most of his head start.

Thick, dank clouds shielded his vision, pressing down on him like unspun wool as he jogged through the plane. It muffled his hearing and caught in his throat, hard to breathe, oppressing every sense he had until he was forced to stop, his hands on his knees as he panted at the uncertain floor. For a few seconds, all he could feel was the drum of his heart, thudding some form of life through his veins, but as the heaves of his ribs began to ease, he felt something else prickle at the edge of awareness. Not a predator, but something else: hot and smelling of tin.

As if drawn by an invisible bow line, Ed turned his head, a grin flashing across his lips as he saw the circle on the floor. It was a few strides across, not nearly as big as that which lay in Mason's mansion, but it throbbed with old, stagnant power.

Inching closer, Ed wafted the mist away, keeping half an ear open for the sound of Mason's daughter as he examined what lay before him. The circle was chaotic with detail, but as he analysed it the pattern became clear. It was a back door, a way out. One that only worked in exceptional circumstances. Usually its purpose was merely a conduit, something to complete a circuit, but Mason had made some changes.

As long as the trigger back in Mason's house was working, then this array could not be used as an exit. It was merely a dead end. Any alchemists in here would not be able to get out again. This array was for mason's daughter only, something she could use once she had the necessary power and the stone back in the mansion had finally depleted.

Ed was different. He could get out of this place, with or without the array, and somehow he doubted that was something Mason had ever intended. No, there was something he was missing. Something had happened that made him different from the others.

Tossing his head in irritation, Ed dragged his focus back to the lines, reading the tangled story twisted within their whorls. He could see the connection back to the array at Mason's house – could read the storage cells and drains – but on the circumference of this array, interrupting it like a ripple in a pool, was another energy flow, one connected to yet another array somewhere else.

Its energy level was low, barely there at all, but it was still connected to this place, plugged in on some kind of baseline flow, and Ed's fingers reached out hesitantly. He could feel the pull of it on his skin – like metal against a magnet – and warmth radiated up his left arm. He was so absorbed with the familiar sensation, more personal than just alchemy, more intimate than any transmutation, that he did not see the shadow until it was too late.

Something slammed into his shoulder, claws sinking in as teeth clamped down on the nape of his neck, making the bone grind and bursting the flesh there. Raw panic shot through Ed's body, sparking off the pain as he was reduced to nothing but insignificant prey. He could feel every huff of breath over his skin, the rasp of an ungainly tongue and the feral, hungry growls of the creature above him. She was back in her full animal form, not ripping him apart just yet, but he could not get the leverage to slash at her body or tip her off, and he bucked helplessly, small, frightened snarls tumbling past his lips as he lunged forward and finally thrust his fingertips into the array that was just an arm's length away.

Power roared through him, vicious and blinding, and he heard an agonised scream as something grabbed at his guts and wrenched, sending his vision spinning before he was dumped unceremoniously in the middle of something metallic and freezing.

He landed on his arse, knees drawn up in front of his chest and his hands clutched protectively around the back of his neck. The warm flow against his fingers had stopped, and he drew in a shaking breath, trying to calm the terror that ricocheted through his system. Relief made him feel sick, and he jerked his head up suddenly, searching for any sign that Mason's daughter had followed him through.

It was completely dark, as if his sight had been torn away, and Ed briefly wondered if she'd done something to him. Reaching out, he tried to get his bearings, wincing at the sense of cool, metal walls cutting through the uncertain outline of his body.

Weakly, he got to his feet, grimacing as he passed through the roof of the strange compartment he was in. The icy steel cutting through him felt hideous, but the sensation faded as he realised he was now able to see. An eerie, greenish light tinged the blank walls of the narrow, long space: disturbingly coffin-like except for the temperature. The glow was emanating from beneath the sheet in front of him, and Ed cautiously reached out, trying to bat it aside so he could get a better look.

Manipulating things in this world was still aggravatingly difficult, but he was getting better at focusing the energy of emotion into something more tangible, and after few minutes, he was able to lower the sheet to the corpse's chin – his chin. Dark lashes still fanned across unmoving cheekbones. It was like looking at a doll, disturbing in every way, but Ed tore his eyes away from his own features and allowed his gaze to be dragged to the source of the illumination.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he noticed the array on the body's skin. It was not much bigger than a coin. He could not see much of it from this angle, but it was drawn at the top of his nape, almost hidden by his hair. In natural light it probably barely showed up at all, but here in the gloom it was a tiny beacon of hope: beautifully complicated.

With an irritated sigh, he tipped his head to the side, screwing up his eyes in distaste as he gradually aligned his head through the shelf on which his body was lying so he could get a better look at the image on his dead skin.

It was undeniably impressive, more so even that the complex back at Mason's mansion. That had been a treasure trove of mystery, but this was an intricate gem of alchemy. There was so much trapped in that small space, stunningly refined, and excitement surged through him. All this time he had feared his body was already dead and beyond his reach, but Mason had been forward thinking, and Ed found himself putting together all the arrays he had seen at last finding sense in the madness.

The design in the portrait had activated the array on the floor of the ballroom, which in turn gave energy to both the design in the daughter's realm and another that drew itself on the body: remote creation was difficult, but not impossible when done right.

The ghost or whatever of the victim was then shoved through to the daughter's realm while the body dropped to the floor in the mansion, seemingly dead, and the array on the skin activated it, keeping it hovering at the brink.

From what he could see, as long as the victim was still technically alive, the ghost of them in the daughter's realm continued to replenish itself, giving the girl more food. He had healed himself there, after all, but perhaps if his body was truly dead then he would have succumbed.

The tiny array on the back of his neck looked electrical with air-related designs. Probably somehow allowing some oxygen into the blood and keeping it pumping weakly around the body: an exterior heart. The victims had no pulse, but it was just about alive anyway. He had no idea if it was enough to stop the brain turning to sludge, but that was not what Mason cared about. He had just wanted to feed his daughter for as long as possible.

Dehydration would get kill him off in the end. That was what Mason had not been able to control. There was nothing on that tiny array to offer water to the flesh. So the daughter had three days of food before the body of her victim finally died at the house and then – what? There had been no remains in Mason' place.

'Of course,' Ed muttered, straightening up and looking over his body again. 'There were bones there with her.' The array must have dragged them through when the body died, clearing the trap once more for the next victim.

It was masterful. So complicated he could probably write an entire book on his theories. Mason had worked hard to create the cascade, trying to cover all the bases, but why? This as not just about keeping his daughter alive. It was about making her into something more...

Shaking his head, Ed cast the thought aside, returning his attention to his corpse. There had to be more than one tiny array on his body, probably one at each pulse point to keep a sluggish level of circulation going. Doctors and coroners would have overlooked them. After all, they were barely expected. Maybe they would have noticed at the autopsy, when they cut him open and he bled, but by then his time would almost be up. They had promised Roy they would delay it, and Ed swore softly as the truth slammed home.

He wasn't dead, but if he someone didn't help him, and soon, he would be.

The sharp shock of metal passed through his system as he stumbled free of the coolers, blinking around the morgue in confusion. The place was empty, and the weak light filtering down from the small, high windows suggested it was coming to the end of the day. Of course, Havoc was back at the mansion, rather than here watching over him, which left him stuck. There was no one he knew to act as his anchor in the world beyond the doors. There was not even a coroner he could follow and take his chances.

Ed clenched his teeth, his fingers twitching into spasmodic fists as he shifted from one foot to the other. He had to find Al and Roy. Maybe some of them were back at headquarters by now. Yet even if they were in the office, that was up and across the building from here. How was he meant to get there?

Ed swallowed, glancing back at the cool steel which hid his "corpse" from view before facing the door. Fuck it. He was just going to have to try and press through the foggy veils of unfamiliar corridors beyond this room. It was not like there was any other choice, not if he wanted to get back to normal before it was too late.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the door, keeping his back pressed to the surface as the quiet hallway dissolved into misty uncertainty all around him. It did not vanish, not entirely, but every time he tried to focus on the details they turned hazy, making nausea ripple through him as he tried to make sense of the view.

His fingers hovered on the wall: not as solid as he would have liked. It was a suggestion of a surface, rather than an impenetrable barrier, and he began to inch his way along its length, concentrating all his senses on the faint whisper of touch at his fingertips.

A vicious roll of the world had him stumbling to a halt, swallowing tightly as he clamped his eyes shut. It was still like trying to walk on a rolling deck, as if reality was trying to reject his very existence, but at least he did not have to look at it.

Turning out into one of the more main corridors, he felt the presence of other people like distant fires. More than once he went straight through them, feeling the sudden rush of organic warmth before it was gone again. Yet none of them were familiar to him: none of them burst the bubble and let his surroundings lie still once more.

A cold sweat broke out across his face, real despite the fact he logically knew he had neither sweat glands nor skin, and his throat pulsed around a dry, empty heave. It was a kind of torture, and he sank to his knees without knowing it, crawling now. Every inch gained was like a spear shooting through him, draining him to nothing, and on the edge of his hearing the happy, hungry growls of Mason's daughter reverberated through the air as if she were simply waiting for him to fall through the gaps.

In a flash, the bubble popped. Mist vanished, the ground fell motionless, and Ed rolled onto his back, panting miserably at the ceiling as the world righted itself again. It took him a moment to realise he could hear Hughes talking, and when he stumbled giddily to his feet, he saw Mustang moving slowly along the corridor at the urging of his best friend.

'You're exhausted. We all are. Al's safe in one of the suites Intelligence have set aside, and we'll keep an eye on him. I'm trusting you to do what's best for yourself.' Hughes sounded more than a little desperate. There was a pleading edge to his voice that even Ed couldn't miss, and as he wobbled to his feet, he could see the reason.

Hughes had dragged Roy to a halt at one of the junctions nearby, blocking his path and bending his knees so he could meet Roy's downcast eyes. 'You need sleep. Please, Roy?'

Mustang did not answer straight away, merely closing his eyes, making the dark shadows more pronounced below the fan of his lashes. The rest of his face was pale and completely colourless, but it was the lax drag of his shoulders that made something clench in Ed's stomach.

For a moment, Ed thought Roy would ignore his friend's request, but gradually he began to move. There were no more confident strides, only a shuffle that made it look as if Roy had aged a decade in a day. His head was ducked, and his hands were shoved into his pockets as he eased his way through the crowd, leaving Ed to hesitate for a moment before he chose his path.

Going back to Al was tempting, and part of him keened to be at his brother's shattered side, but getting Al to notice him might not be that beneficial. Would the others listen to him, or would they commit him to medical care and assume his mind had snapped? At least if Ed could get through to Roy then he had the power to give orders, even if his men thought he had lost it as a result.

Quickly, he jogged through the crowd, following the tautening pull of Roy's presence until he could fall in at his side, doing his best to dodge around a couple of secretaries rather than pass straight through them as he slowed his pace. He was not sure Roy even noticed the smiling pair of women. He looked totally lost in his thoughts, his eyes distant and pained and his jaw working silently.

Eventually, he seemed to become aware that the rush of people had thinned, and that his feet were automatically taking him to the door bearing his name. All the generals got their own suite to use when work kept them in the office, and now Roy slid the key into the lock, pausing to stare back along the corridor for a minute, looking straight through Ed, before pushing his way inside.

Ed managed to slip in as well. Not that it would have mattered if Roy shut the door in his face, but he did not want the lingering taste of wood chips in his mouth. The moment he was inside, the room seemed to solidify a little further, feeling like the office: a familiar place, even though he had never been here before. Was it just because it was Roy's? Did that make this place some kind of safe haven?

He blinked around the room, taking in the bland military lines of it. Of course, as a general's suite, the furniture was of somewhat better quality than the standard dormitories, and Ed would not be surprised if Roy had pulled some strings to get one with a fireplace. The grate stood, cold and dark, in front of the couch, and the open plan room meant that the bed was only a few steps away: a sturdy, double affair that looked as if it was slept in with some level of frequency.

It was a little bit of home, but right now Roy was looking as if the place were enemy territory, his eyes dark and blank but for an ice cold gleam of something like fear.

At last, he moved, his paces stiff and ancient as he crossed the room to the bed, sitting on the mattress with a noise like pain before putting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. He looked so different – a million miles away from the assured, confident man that Ed knew – and he found himself standing helplessly by the door, staring at this new facet of Roy's character.

He did not notice that Roy's shoulders were shaking until the sharp hiss of a sob cut through the air. It was enough to make Ed jerk in shock, his arms unfolding as his hands fell uselessly to the side. He knew Roy had almost been crying in the morgue, struggling not to let go of his composure, but he had collected himself. Now it seemed that the dam that held it all back was cracking, and Roy's body trembled under the onslaught.

An aborted noise of sympathy caught in Ed's throat, rough and hoarse in his nothing voice, and he quickly darted across the room, abruptly hating Mason all the more for what had happened. He expected tears and worse from Al, but all the while he had been struggling to understand what was happening, Roy had been hovering in the background, a shadow of unexpected grief and hurt. Now all that was coming to the fore, and Ed's feeling of uselessness increased a hundred-fold.

'Roy, it's okay. Please, it's okay.' He reached out to touch the blue clad shoulders, feeling the warmth of that living body even as he knew he must be chilling Roy with his presence. Still, he could not bring himself to care. He had to get Roy's attention and make him understand that there was a way to undo Mason's mess.

'You need to listen to me. I think I know how to put things right, but I can't do it on my own.' Ed hung his head as Roy remained oblivious, his entire body doubled over as if he were bleeding from a gut wound as the grief dragged itself through him. It was horrible to listen to, and for the first time Ed wondered if this was what heartbreak looked like from the outside.

Part of him questioned it, demanded to know why Roy would be so shattered by the loss, but he pushed the thoughts aside. He did not care about why. All he wanted was to stop this – to pick Roy up and let him be the strong man he was so used to seeing everyday, rather than this fragmented soul. He wanted Roy to live, not merely function.

Weakly, he sat down at Roy's side, trying to ignore the fact that the bed did not respond to his weight. Part of him was tempted to stick his head inside Roy's skull and think, like he had done with Al back at the mansion, but it had not been easy, and he had been thrust from Al's body within a heartbeat. He needed longer than that if he was going to explain any of this to Roy.

Minutes ticked by, soft and sheltered in the twilight of the suite. Roy had only turned on one of the bedside lamps, but Ed could still make out enough of him to know the sobs were gradually slowing down, coming from somewhere more deep and wretched in his body. They weren't borne of simple shock, but something much more fundamental, and Ed found himself rubbing Roy's back uselessly, skimming his palms in slow, unheeded circles of frail comfort.

Eventually, Roy sucked in a hitching breath, his jaw clenching as he pursed his lips and blinked his spiky lashes at the carpet. His cheeks were carved with faint pink lines where his skin was tear-stained, and Ed watched him swallow convulsively. If he knew he was not alone, then Roy would never have let himself have this. He would have held it all in until it had torn him apart, and Ed felt wretched for having been such an unwelcome witness.

He looked exhausted, as if the storm of emotion had rung him dry, and Ed watched as he clumsily toed off his boots and shrugged out of his jacket, casting it carelessly onto the floor before sliding under the blankets – too tired and miserable to bother removing the rest of his clothes. The bruised smudges under Roy's eyes seemed to have deepened, and Ed got up, hunkering down right in Roy's line of sight.

It made his heart hurt, watching Roy like this, more so for it being unexpected. There was normally so much purpose in Roy's expression, confidence and certainty. Now that was all gone, like a slate wiped clean, and the person left behind was little more than a ghost himself, too pale and cold in the sprawl of his double bed.

Sleep came quickly, a reprieve of sheer exhaustion that washed over Roy's body, steadying his breathing and dragging his eyes closed. Yet the tense lines of his face did not relax as much as Ed would have liked, and he could still see the occasional tremor running through Roy's body.

Shit, there had to be a way he could make this better. The window of opportunity was small, and shrinking all the time. How the hell was he meant to do anything stuck in this stupid, insubstantial state? Throwing the book had pushed him back to Mason's daughter's realm and had only been a short burst of energy. Anything else, like picking up a pen and writing a message, took more than he had to offer, and Ed found himself glaring impotently around the suite, looking for some kind of inspiration.

Finally, his gaze fell on Roy again, and he tipped his head to one side. Would sleep make it different? Would he be able to stay in Roy's head longer and leave any kind of impression, or would Roy forget it all the moment he opened his eyes?

Did he really have any option but to try?

Cautiously, he moved around the bed, feeling like an intruder as he climbed up onto the empty side, leaving no impression on the quilt as he crawled closer to Roy. His spine tightened as he braced himself, leaning slightly closer to Roy's sleeping face, his eyes darting briefly down to those lips, relaxed in sleep, before bending his head to press his brow to Roy's own, intending to push straight on through.

It was as if the world flipped on its head, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor and leaving him gasping like a landed fish. His senses spun in drunken confusion before finally righting themselves, and he rubbed a hand against his forehead, groaning out loud before his brain finally kicked itself into high gear.

He had a pulse. He could feel it throbbing through his body, a solid, shocking beat that he had missed so much. His skin felt warm, and when he touched the floor beneath him, there was no mere hint of sensation. It felt like polished wood warmed by sunbeams, not some empty, whispering memory of touch but the real thing.

'What the fuck?' Ed murmured, blinking in confusion at his own fingers before pushing himself up on his elbows and surveying the room. It was well-decorated, bordering on the sumptuous, with thick rugs on pine floors. A fire was lit in the grate, but even as Ed watched it, he realised that it was too cool. The heat did not seem to reach into the room properly, and when he glanced to the window, he could see a leaden sky threatening beyond the panes. There was no rain, not now, but it looked as if a storm had only just passed and more clouds were on their way.

The bed a few steps to his right caught his eye, and he blinked at the figure lying in its grip. Bare shoulders and chest were visible above the sheets, barely any darker than the white linens themselves, and Roy's hair was an inky shock against the pillow. Roy's body was sprawled on its back now, rather than curled up and hunched, and Ed let out a breath he had not realised had caught itself beneath his ribs.

Of course, the bastard looked gorgeous. He knew it and always made the most out of it when he was awake, but this was something entirely different: unconsciously sensuous in a way that left Ed feeling off-balance and uncertain, abruptly clumsy and out-of-place.

Was he in a dream or something? Except no, because why would Roy dream himself as a sleep? This was something different, more like another plane of existence than something conjured of fantasy, and when Ed walked over to the bed, the sound of his own footsteps was enough to have him jerking around in surprise.

Here, he was tangible, living and breathing as surely as if he had never been gone. He could feel the tickle of his ponytail against the nape of his neck and sense the sough of the air around him. It was as if he had suddenly been brought into focus, and Ed closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to relish life before he fixed his gaze on Roy once more.

He could see the gentle rise and fall of that bare chest, steady, as if he were asleep, but as Ed approached, the rhythm changed, and a glimmer of blue appeared between the dark line of his lashes. For a moment, that gaze was glazed, but like switching on a light they turned sharp.

For the first time in days, Roy was staring at Ed, not through him.

It was painfully real, and Ed had to remind himself that this was far more akin to a dream than reality. He could only hope that this was some part of Roy's mind personified, one that would listen and make sense of what he had to say.

Abruptly, Roy propped himself up on one elbow, drinking in the sight of Ed as if he was sure that he would disappear. His gaze took in everything, hungry and desperate, and when Roy held out one hand in mute request, Ed found himself helplessly reaching out with his left arm, curling flesh fingers around Roy's palm.

The tug caught him off balance, and he knelt on the edge of the mattress, trying not to tremble as Roy's touch moved up his cheeks and down the column of this throat, lingering over the flutter of his pulse and brushing over his parted lips.

'God, you're really here,' Roy whispered, his voice far more worshipful than Ed had ever heard it before. Yet in the space of a moment, it changed, turning thick with dread. 'Except you're not. I'm dreaming, aren't I?'

'No!' Ed grabbed Roy's wrist, watching the older man start. 'I mean yes, maybe, but I'm real. Roy, you have to listen to me. I'm not dead. I'm just... not where I should be.'

He gazed into Roy's eyes, seeing nothing but blank incomprehension and wishing he could be sure this was even a real man he was talking to. 'Mason got his daughter stuck in another plane, and he's been using people to feed her.' He wet his lips, taking a sharp breath as he continued to explain. 'I'm meant to be her meal, but if you can get my body out of the morgue and back into the array at the house, then we might be able to undo it. Counterpoint arrays. It's all about counterpoint arrays.'

He huffed as Roy shook his head, already pulling back and away, clearly not believing a word he said. It only made Ed's grip tighten a moment before he shifted, wrapping both hands around Roy's bare shoulders. 'Please, I don't have much time. Check my body in the morgue. Look for an array on the back of my neck. You have to do this for me.'

A shifting shadow flickered across the edge of Ed's vision, and he whipped around, staring distrustfully around the room. There was something there: he could feel it like the steady creep of a nightmare, and it had no more right to be here than he did.

'What was that?' Roy asked, his hands returning to Ed's wrists, clinging as he gazed around with wide eyes.

'It might be her. I don't think she can really follow me here, but we can't take that chance. Do you understand what I'm telling you? Do you know what you have to do?'

'But – but this is just a dream, Ed. You're not really here. Dreams always feel real...'

Ed closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as his mind whirled. He did not know what to do, couldn't think of anything to convince Roy that this was more than just some tortuous image conjured up by his own mind. Ed could feel his hope sliding away like grains of sand in an hourglass, shifting and turning until he was left with empty hands and a heavy heart.

If he could not get this through to Roy, then he was out of time. The hours were trickling away, and who knew what would happen to him once his body was properly gone. Would Mason's daughter get her way, or would he just fade? Would he linger on, a constant witness to the life of those he loved, but unable to do anything but watch?

The thought stuck in his throat, sharp and painful, and for the first time in his life he felt the real horror of what "one last chance" really meant. At this point, was there any reason not to take a risk?

Before Roy could utter another word, Ed leaned forward and captured those lips with his own, stealing the kiss he had wished could be his for far too long. It felt like life, crystalline and perfect as he drank in the warmth of Roy, relishing the touch as an aborted sound of surprise reached his ears.

Within a heartbeat, the murmur became lower and more needy, and Ed shivered as Roy's lips parted, the wet flick of his tongue making heat unfurl through Ed's body. It rose like a warm sea, wiping away every concern as he concentrated everything – every hope and wish – down to this one, finite moment.

Whether Roy believed him or not, at least he would have had this.

Wakefulness was a cold slap in the face, and he staggered back, blinking around the suite in Central Command. The only light came from the one bedside lamp Roy had left on, and Ed jumped as Roy bolted awake, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. That dark gaze darted around the room, desperately seeking something, and Ed's heart caught in his throat. Did Roy remember him? Had he managed to get through?

He watched as Roy lifted one hand to lips, touching his own mouth. For an endless moment, he could see the war of hope and disbelief in Roy's face, but when those eyes lifted again, there was something sharp and intelligent there, and Roy's trembling voice stirred to life in his throat.

'Ed, are you there?'

**To Be Continued**


	6. Chapter 5

**Warnings: Angst and mentions of men kissing.**

_A/N: OMG so late. Sorry, guys. I have excuses, but you're here to read. So I'll let you get on with it. Crazy life is still crazy. And will be for the forseeable future. Updates when they happen is as good as I can do right now (blah.)_

_Thank you for all your support :)_

_B xxx_

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><p><strong>Counterpoint: Chapter Five<strong>

Roy stared around the room, the bed beneath him a vast solid expanse as his mind scrambled to sort dream from reality. Every muscle in his body trembled, shaking themselves apart at the collision of pain and hope. He wanted to believe that it was more than just a fantasy – that Ed was really still here somehow, but the logical part of his mind struggled to believe it.

A tight sound caught in his chest, and he moved his hand from his tingling lips, scrubbing his fingers across his eyes instead. Exhaustion burned along his eyelids, and a glance at the clock told him he had not been asleep for more than half an hour. Yet he could not possibly lie down again, not now. Not with his mind full of Ed's face, his warmth, his presence.

A shiver rippled across his skin, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor as he dragged all his senses to focus on the room around him. There was nothing there out of place – nothing to suggest he was anything but alone – yet he could not push the dream aside so easily. Ed's voice, so painfully familiar, kept going around his mind, speaking about Mason, counterpoint arrays, his body in the morgue... Why would he dream that? Why would he dream of Ed needing help?

Staggering to his feet, Roy stumbled into the bathroom, flicking the taps on the sink until the water gurgled down the drain. Quickly, he splashed his face, wishing he could wash away all the confusion and hurt. Yet all the icy touch did was shove aside the deadened blanket of weariness that dragged at his eyes, leaving him free to raise his head and meet his own gaze in the mirror.

And see the figure standing behind him.

Roy froze, his heart in his throat and an aborted sound of surprise caught beneath his ribs. He stared, drinking in the sight of a man he thought he would never set eyes on again. Ed was leaning against the bathroom wall, his head tipped back in something like surrender. His arms were crossed, his left fist clenched tight as if he were angry, but there was something else in his expression – something much more like fear. His eyes were closed, squeezed tight, but the second he opened them Roy felt the connection like an electric shock, darting over his skin in wild abandon.

Ed's lips parted in surprise, and Roy fought against the urge to blink, not wanting to give the vision a chance to vanish. He said something – something which Roy could not hear – and he shook his head sadly at his lack of comprehension. Ed did not have a voice, at least not here, and Roy missed that more than he thought possible. There were no rough curses or growled challenges, just Ed shrugging helpless shoulders and pointing to the door.

Roy blinked. He could not help it. His eyes burned with the urge, and when the fleeting veil of darkness had passed, Ed was gone again.

Yet it was not a hallucination or a figment of his imagination. He refused to believe that! Part of his mind yammered away about grief and unexpected effects, but Roy silenced it ruthlessly. He knew what he had seen, he knew what had been in his dream, and there was no way he could pretend it had been anything but real.

Snatching a towel off the rail, he dried his hands and face, pitching it back over his shoulder without a care as he began to move. The leaden weight of grief was shifting and sliding as a bright seedling of hope began to grow. It carried him along on the crest of a wave as he tore open the door to his suite, almost jogging down the corridor as his thoughts spun: a whirlwind in his mind.

Something had happened: something none of them had seen. They had been left with a body and assumed the worst, but shouldn't they know better by now? When had Ed ever conformed to the expected?

His heart felt like it was trying to bash its way out of his ribs, too full and fast, drowning out all the worried whispers of his mind. It could still be insanity, his logical brain scattering itself apart beneath the burden of loss, but he did not care. He would rather be mad and hopeful than sane and bereaved.

The morgue doors parted before the shove of his hands, and he blinked around the semi-darkness before flicking the lights on. The place was mercifully empty, and he picked up a bundle of keys from their hook, picking through them as he levelled a glare at the locked cabinets set into one wall. At least they had been labelled, and Ed's name taunted him, written on the paper in unfamiliar handwriting.

Roy's fingers shook, making the keys jangle as he slipped one in and gave it a twist, hearing the tumblers click free. For a moment, he paused, feeling the moment spread before him. It could make or break him, what he saw in there, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to peer inside.

The aquamarine glow of alchemy caught his attention almost instantly. Ed had told him to check his body, and the evidence was there for anyone to see. It was almost impossible to imagine how they could have missed it, but then the light was subtle. Out in the main room it would probably disperse, but in an enclosed space it was like a moonrise underwater, rippling and beautiful.

Roy rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind stumbling into a blazing twist of thoughts and ideas. He dithered there, uncertain of what to do, but at last he reached a decision. Quickly, he spun around, his hand shaking as he snatched the telephone's receiver from its cradle and began to dial. The ring in his ears seemed almost otherworldly as he waited, knowing that Hughes would probably still be in Intelligence, and he heaved a sigh of relief as his friend's voice answered.

'Maes, I need you to get Al and come to the morgue.'

'What? Roy, I thought you were getting some sleep?' Hughes' voice sounded tight and worried, but Roy could not bring himself to care.

'Look, just do as I ask. Please? There's something Al needs to see.'

There was a pause from the other end of the line, and he could practically hear Hughes thinking about it, no doubt planning for a hundred different contingencies. 'Fine, fine. We'll be there in a minute. Don't go anywhere.'

Roy did not even bother saying goodbye as he hung up, licking his dry lips as he fidgeted back and forth, unsure what to do next. He wanted to get a good look at those arrays, but he needed Al to see the glow. He and Hughes needed to realise that there was more here than any of them could have believed, and Roy did not want to waste precious moments convincing them all he had not snapped straight through with misery.

Something soft brushed against his cheek, a mere phantom of sensation made of cold air more than anything else, but every muscle in Roy's body locked in place, tense and keening. He had felt that before, since leaving Mason's house the first time. It was just a suggestion, so easy to ignore, but now his mind skipped back, remembering every event. Had that been Ed trying to get his attention? Trying to touch him and make him realise that, despite everything, he was not as lost as he appeared?

'You're here, aren't you?' Roy murmured, a crooked smile twitching his lips as the restraining dam of doubt finally crumbled and hope washed through him, bright and joyful. It was a second chance, and he had every intention of grabbing it with both hands. 'I imagine if there was a way of communicating with us properly, you would have worked it out by now. Though I suppose it was you who threw the book at Al?'

He almost heard a snort, half-laughter, half-annoyance. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but it was better than nothing, and Roy found himself pacing back and forth in a tight, anxious line, glancing repeatedly at the door. What was taking Al and Hughes so long? Didn't they understand that they had got everything wrong? That the grief they had been living under these past couple of days was nothing but a passing cloud, rather than a permanent fixture?

At last, Hughes and Al appeared, both of them looking wrecked and broken. Al's face was stained with tears again – no doubt he had not been sleeping – and Hughes looked like a man who was trying to hold everything together at the seams while he shattered himself apart.

'Why are you in here, Roy?' Maes' voice was so soft, gentle and hurting, as if Roy were standing on a high ledge somewhere rather than the flat stone floor of the morgue. 'The coroners promised...'

'Forget the coroners,' Roy retorted, thrilling at the strength in his own voice. 'Look.' He pointed to the open door that hid Ed's body and the obvious blue glow, switching through to shades of sea green and ice white as they watched. 'There's something that we've missed.'

Al blinked, moving closer to the chilled cabinets with an expression that spoke of both dread and intelligence. He might be grieving, but he was also thinking, and Roy smiled at the sight. He and Alphonse might both be desperate for a way to undo reality, but with any luck they would be able to convince Hughes that this was more than just their own dire denial.

Metal clanked as Al grabbed the tray, pulling the drawer with his brother's body on it out into the room. The strong struts kept it supported, and Roy trembled again at the sight. Living bodies knew dead ones, at least that was what he had always thought, and every sign pointed to Ed being a corpse. His skin was lifeless, and nothing like breath fluttered his chest. In the dazzling light, the arrays had dimmed from sight, and he found himself stalking closer, looking down at the waist-high slab for some kind of clue.

Something blew across the back of his neck, quiveringly intimate, and Roy gasped, raising his hand to the sensitive skin for a moment before he realised it was a message. Something telling him where to look.

As carefully as he could, he nudged his fingers against Ed's jaw, his eyes going wide as he realised there was more to this than just the arrays. Ed's skin was chilly against his knuckles, but not nearly as cold as it should have been. He had been in a refrigerated unit for too long to retain any semblance of life's heat, yet there it was, a whisper of a promise.

'He's still warm.'

'What?' Hughes' eyebrows shot up, his weight rocking back on his heels where he stood with his arms crossed. 'Roy...'

'No, he's right.' Al's head shot up, his eyes alight with something other than unshed tears. 'Brother shouldn't be much hotter than the air in there,' He gestured to the refrigerated units in the wall, 'but he's not much colder than us.'

'Look at this,' Roy urged, gently pushing Ed to the side and shielding the skin on the back of his neck with one hand, granting enough shadow so that the array was picked out in cerulean once more. 'Any ideas?'

Al blinked, his fingers hovering just above the design before he jerked his hand back, spinning around to the nearby desk and scrabbling for paper and a pencil. It was the most animated Roy had seen him since he had broken the news of Ed's death, and his heart clenched as he prayed he was not giving Alphonse hope only to have it ripped away once more.

'It's a complicated design, but I've seen something like it before.' He sketched it out in quick, decisive lines, and Roy could almost see the meteoric blaze of his mind. 'The elements are a little different, but – ' He licked his lips, looking first at Ed and then up into Roy's gaze. 'It's similar to the ones doctors use – emergency life support.'

The rush of Hughes' breath in through his lips was the only sound in the morgue, and Roy looked over to see that green gaze flicker from Al to Roy, and then down to Ed on the table. 'You mean he's not dead?'

Al dropped the paper on the floor, the pencil clattering by his foot as he peeled back the sheet, revealing Ed's chest and grabbing at his left hand. 'If I'm right then there need to be more. One on his neck's not going to be enough.' A grin broke across his face as another array revealed itself at the pulse point in Ed's wrist, followed by another at his shoulder.

Something larger was faintly visible in the centre of Ed's chest, and Roy thought Al might actually collapse from the sheer relief. 'There's one at every major circulation point.'

'What does that mean?'

'He's blood's still being pumped around his body.' The grin lit up Al's face, manic and desperate at its edge. 'The arrays produce a mild electrical current and are removing oxygen from the air. So everything's getting a supply of oxygenated blood.'

Hughes shook his head, clearly still not getting it even as Roy sagged, grabbing onto the slab to hold himself up.

'It means he's still alive, Maes. No heartbeat and not breathing, but not dead either.' A tremulous, helpless smile crossed Roy's lips, and he shook his head in disbelief as he braced his palms on the edge of the table, trying to think around the overwhelming rush of emotion that flowed through him. 'There's got to be some way we can undo this. He said something about counterpoint arrays, getting back to Mason's house...'

'Who said – ' Hughes began, only to be cut off as Al's ears pricked up.

'Counterpoint arrays? The book that hit me at the mansion... Is that what these are? They're all connected to something else?' Al scrabbled for the sketch again, drinking in the design as if it held the answers to the universe.

'Woah, wait. Who said what, Roy? How did you know to look for these arrays?' Hughes' pale face looked tense and severe, practically begging Roy for a reasonable answer. Yet there was none to be had. Any way he could think of to word the truth sounded beyond insane, and in the end Roy simply brushed the question away with a flick of his hand.

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. You're just going to have to trust me. Ed said that the array at the mansion removed... something. His life energy, or whatever. There's another place, somewhere that Mason's daughter is trapped. He's meant to be food for her, but he thinks we should be able to get him back.'

'You've been talking to him?' Al asked, head cocked aside in honest curiosity as, behind him, Hughes tunnelled his fingers in his hair and began to pace in a tight, stressed line. 'How – how –?'

'It was a dream,' Roy muttered at last, trying not to let his shoulders hunch defensively. 'Look, it doesn't matter how I know. The point is, an hour ago, we all knew Ed was dead. Now it looks like we were wrong. Can you really turn and walk away from this, Al?'

He saw the steel enter those golden eyes and flow through Al's form, straightening his shoulders as he shook his head. 'Of course not, it's just.. Why didn't he talk to me?'

'You can ask him yourself when we get him back.' Roy jabbed a finger at the page clutched in Al's hand. 'What else can you see from this? Anything, anything at all that can give us the answer?'

Al drew in a deep breath, bending his head as he focused on the image in his hand. It was a quieter way than Ed worked, more self-contained, but the growing frown on Al's face was enough to make a new fist of worry clench around Roy's heart.

'This is just about keeping the body alive,' Al said at last. 'That's it's only job, but there's nothing to help get water through the skin.' He reached out, tenting the flesh on the back of his brother's hand and watching it settle. 'He's already gone without water for nearly forty-eight hours. These arrays couldn't keep him going for more than three days.'

Hughes paused in his pacing, looking briefly down at Ed's still face as he drew in a deep breath. 'He's already been gone for almost two. Do you honestly think that you can undo Mason's work in the time we have left?'

'What choice do we have?' Al demanded, waving a frantic hand at his brother. 'No doctor will treat an apparent corpse for dehydration, and it's not like we can hide him until we figure it out.' He clamped his lips shut, his fingers leaving obvious creases on the paper in his hand as Roy watched him shake. 'He said we should take him back to the mansion?'

Roy nodded, swallowing tightly as he tried to remember Ed's exact words. It was all hazy, lost in a fog of sleep and confusion, but he was sure that's what Ed had said. 'I don't know if he thinks maybe he can undo it from his end, wherever he goes, but being back at the house is probably essential.' He glanced over at Hughes, wishing there was something he could say to wipe the sad, aching doubt from that familiar face.

'Look, I can see the arrays aren't normal, but think about what you're doing,' Hughes pleaded. 'Taking a corpse from the morgue... If any of the brass saw what you were doing, think what it would do for your career.'

'Damn my career!' Roy's voice bounced off the close walls, loud enough to make both Al and Hughes jump as Roy shook his head fiercely. 'I know this sounds insane. You think I don't? But remember all the times Ed has come to us saying things that we could barely bring ourselves to believe. Things about homunculi, and stones, and prisoners being used as sacrifices...' Roy scratched at his chin as he looked down at Ed's still body. 'All those times he was dead right. You really think I'm going to stop listening now?'

'You're the only one he seems to be speaking to,' Hughes pointed out, leaning back on the coroner's desk and staring at his own feet before he met Roy's gaze. 'You know how that looks. All we've got is your word.'

A scalpel shot through the air, a hard, fast line of silver that came to a shuddering halt in the plastic door of the morgue. It was too far away from any of them to have caused an injury, but the juddering sound it made as it hit seemed to echo through the room, followed by a low, purring snarl that made Roy's blood run cold.

'Stop it,' he snapped, a thrill of terror running down his spine as he remembered the strange, shifting shadows from his dream and the pinched expression of defensive fear that had flickered over Ed's face. 'You're too weak for that.' He was not sure where the thought came from, but it was enough to harden his resolve. Ed's communications were few and fleeting, and the last thing he wanted was for Ed to end up in the clutches of... what was it? Mason's daughter?

'Even if you don't believe me about Ed, Hughes, there's still the case of whatever's in that house.' Another growl grated through the room as if to punctuate his statement. 'And I don't think it's exactly staying put any more. We need to face this.'

Hughes glanced at the scalpel, his eyes trailing along the shining, mercurial length of it before he straightened up, squaring his shoulders and nodding his head. 'I'll get a car. Wrap Ed in some blankets, because if he really is still alive, then he can't possibly be warm enough. You're going to have to carry him.'

'I'll get some things and meet you back here. I at least need Mason's notes.' Al hesitated, almost swaying at Ed's side as if loathe to leave him, but at last he bolted away, leaving Roy to rummage through drawers and storage chests for anything that might shield Ed from the chill of the room and the world beyond.

The clatter of a latch made him look over, and he saw the metal of a clasp holding a cupboard shut twitching by itself. Walking over, he focused his senses, feeling the air take on a truly icy edge. It crept in through his skin, filling his veins and making him shiver. Yet at the same time, now he knew what it was, it brought him comfort.

'Still here then?'

He could almost hear Ed's huff, a little weary around its edges like it so often was when he came back from assignment. There was no reply, at least not in words, but Roy got a vague sense of something: excitement and dread mixed together. It seemed maybe Ed was not as sure of what he was doing as he appeared in the dream, but then there really was no time for certainty. Grief had robbed them of most of their chances to act. What they had seen as permanent death had turned into a deep hibernation, but Ed was running out of time in which to awake.

'I hope Al can work out how to change the arrays.' Roy cleared his throat, pulling free several thick, woollen blankets and bundling them in his arms before turning back to the slab. 'And I hope you know what you're doing. We're acting blind here, Ed, and if this doesn't work...' He left the sentence hanging, because he could not think about that. The wound of grief was still there, raw and weeping, and if this did not work the hope that stitched it back together would vanish, leaving it to gush anew.

Pursing his lips, Roy shook the thought aside and set to work, murmuring an apology as he slid an arm under Ed's shoulders and lifted him into a clumsy sitting position. The metal of the automail was brumal where it bit into Roy's arm, and he found himself shivering from its touch. Ed's body was like that of a doll, as unresponsive as it had been the day they brought him here, but there was no stiffness to his frame.

Roy was not sure how long rigour mortis lasted, but even if he was not convinced that Ed was not as dead as he looked, the faint warmth whispering from Ed's flesh would have been enough to reassure him. How could they not have felt this sooner? Would the coroners have noticed before the autopsy, or would they have sliced him open and only expressed alarm when fresh, red blood flowed from the incision?

The thought turned Roy's stomach, and he licked his lips as he wrapped the blankets around Ed's frame. He seemed much smaller like this. All the vitality and vibrant personality that made Ed fill a room from one edge to the other was absent, and the actual physical shell of him was almost petite. Roy smothered a smile, hoping that Ed could not read his thoughts. Bad enough he was probably watching Roy doing this - moving Ed's body and trying not to think about warm kisses as he cocooned the wool around Ed's skin. The last thing he wanted was Ed's irate ghost, energy or whatever venting its fury on him.

He did not dare remove the sheet that had been covering Ed's body, instead choosing to preserve the young man's modesty and fold the blankets around him. By the time that Al stumbled back into the morgue with a bag over his shoulder, Ed looked like he could just be curled up asleep, rather than completely beyond their reach.

'I thought you were just getting notes,' Roy murmured as Al began to scrabble through medical supplies, grabbing anything he thought might be of use.

'People don't come back from the dead,' Al replied. 'They just don't. Bodies don't do this kind of thing.' He gestured to Ed's prone form. 'They're not designed for it. If we get him back, he's going to need hospital, and if I can give him anything to make things easier until he gets there, then I will.'

Al did not look well. In fact, now that the first flash of euphoria had passed, he looked grim and frightened, as if he was now seeing more of a curse than a blessing.

'Can you tell me what we should expect?' Roy asked quietly, hovering at Ed's shoulder and absently reaching out to tuck a strand of gold hair back behind the shell of Ed's ear.

'Anything. Everything.' Al shook his head. 'No one's done it before, so no one knows what will happen. There could be blood clots. His heart could be congested. His lungs the same. The last thing he ate has been sitting in his stomach for two days, rotting and filling him with who knows what.'

'Can he –' Roy hesitated, trying to control the faint tremors that Al's words inspired. 'If we can bring him back, is his body even going to be able to accept him?'

Al shrugged, chewing his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 'I don't know. I just don't know. But we need to try. We can't let this go.'

Roy nodded his head in agreement. Al was right. He just hoped they were not retrieving Ed only to have him face a painful second death, burning all their hopes high only to have him succumb to the ills of a body that had suffered too much in the past two days. 'Is there anything else you need that's not here?'

Al shook his head, waving a couple of small vials and a syringe. 'I already took this from the hospital. Antibiotics and a painkiller that's also a blood-thinner. Both should help.'

'I've made sure there's a radio in the car. We'll be able to call for help the moment we need it.' Hughes' voice echoed in the morgue, and Roy looked over his shoulder, seeing his friend standing at a different door. 'This way out is quicker. We've got less chance of being seen, or worse, stopped.' He nodded at the bundled form of Ed's body. 'The sentries aren't going to be too bothered with who is leaving base, but if we're doing this, then we need to get moving.'

With a quick nod, Roy reached out, scooping Ed's body up into his arms. He was no lighter than he had been when he carried him in, and his back creaked under the strain as he shifted his burden. 'Let's get out of here, then.' He smiled as he felt a flash of cold against his cheek: a touch of acknowledgement, maybe. It was easy to imagine Ed's uneven footsteps matching his stride as he slipped through the door that Hughes held open, traversing a short, dim corridor to reach the standard military car that lay idling at the exit.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Hughes when he saw Havoc sitting in the driving seat, looking equally puzzled and concerned. 'Couldn't you drive?'

'I didn't fancy being the only backup you and Al had while you worked,' Maes explained, his lips curving into a mocking smile – the first sign of anything like happiness Roy had seen all evening. 'Havoc's a better choice than Hawkeye for this. He's less likely to stop us for our own good. You all right?'

Hughes' grip on Roy's elbow steadied him as he grunted beneath Ed's weight, manoeuvring himself into the same position in the back seat that he had done on that fateful first journey back from the house. In the end, he and Al sat at either end of the seat with Ed's body laid across their laps. Roy's grip on Ed's shoulders kept him secure as the doors slammed shut and Havoc released the handbrake, letting the car ease away.

'I hope we're right about this,' the Lieutenant muttered, his blue eyes flickering up to meet Roy's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

'We all do,' Roy replied, sucking in a breath at the sudden collision of something bitingly cold at his shoulder. Al clearly felt it too, because he flinched, glancing at the empty space and then down at the body lying across them. Roy watched as his fingers clenched into a brief fist before he reached out, tentatively feeling at the empty air as if he hoped, somehow, that the sense of touch would tell him more than his eyes could.

'I saw his reflection, briefly. Back at my suite,' Roy murmured. 'Other than that all I've felt is the cold, just like this.'

'You said you dreamt about him,' Al replied, opening his eyes again and dragging his hand back to his side, disappointment written large across his face. 'Was he still nothing but a reflection then?'

Roy shook his head, his mind twirling back to the memory with ease. Sleep had hazed its edges, but he could still recall enough to know it had been completely different. 'He was solid. It was like he was standing right in front of me, trying to explain why another assignment had gone wrong. I – I didn't believe it.'

'What changed your mind?'

Roy's tongue darted out to brush across his lips as he remembered the heat of Ed's mouth against them: the blunt edge of teeth and the taste of utter, hopeless desperation – a drowning man taking his last breath. He had sensed defeat in that kiss and, more than anything, that was what had yanked Roy from sleep and set him on the path that led to his certainty.

It had felt as if Ed was saying goodbye, and Roy could not bear the thought of losing him twice.

'It was too coherent,' he managed at last, clearing his throat as he voiced the lie. 'My dreams are normally a tangle of images, but that, it was just Ed. Just a conversation about arrays and Mason's daughter.'

'Did he tell you about her?' Hughes asked, turning to look over his shoulder as Havoc guided the car down Central's sleeping streets. 'Anything we could use?'

Roy shrugged and shook his head. 'Just that she was stuck and that Mason had been keeping her alive. Ed was meant to be her food, but he's able to get away from her somehow.' He rubbed at his eyes, feeling their sting and burn. Adrenaline was keeping the dull cloud of exhaustion away, but he was agonisingly aware that the brief, dream-laden sleep he had managed to achieve was utterly inadequate. 'I got the impression he knew more, but I don't think he can communicate with us very well. We're going to have to work it out for ourselves.'

Al nodded, his expression flickering as the car passed between the pools of light cast by intermittent street lamps. 'If the array cascade works the way I think it does, we need to force energy through in the opposite direction. The way Mason's arrays are drawn that – that technique he used –'

'Maltouche.' Roy pulled a face. 'We can't alter that design. It will be impossible.'

'Maybe not, but counterpoint cascades tend to be flexible. You can put another array into the sequence and alter all the other designs connected to it through a secondary relay.' Al lifted his shoulders, looking faintly embarrassed. 'Brother worked it out years ago. It's like putting an extra tumbler in a lock that, when turned, forces all the others to fail.'

'I've never heard of a lock like that,' Hughes murmured, but there was a smile on his lips. 'I thought alchemists just blew them up.'

'This would be a bit more graceful than complete destruction,' Al's lips curved into a tight, weak smile, 'but I think I can make it work. I just need a bit of time to get the design together, and your help integrating it, General. You know more about Maltouche than me. I just need to be sure I'm not drawing on top of Mason's original components.'

'What about powering it?' Roy asked as Havoc accelerated out of the city, heading towards the Mason estate. 'The whole thing was running off a Philosopher's stone. Are we going to be able to activate it?'

'If we work together, I hope so. It will be like swimming against the current, but if we both activate it at the same time...'

Roy winced at the thought, his jaw clenching as the full scale of Al's plan became clear. Two alchemists activating the same array was not unheard of. He had seen Al and Ed do it before, working in perfect, dangerous tandem to fill a design with enough power to blow up a city block, but there was so much opportunity for it to go wrong. If there was any restriction, any bottleneck in the cascade, then the energy would short out, and the entire thing would self-destruct.

'Is there a less dangerous way?' he asked, knowing the answer before Al even shook his head.

'Not unless you're hiding a Philosopher's stone in your pocket.' Al's fingers drummed a hasty tattoo on the door of the car, his jaw tense and eyes pinched as he glared at the speeding dark beyond the window. 'One alchemist won't be enough to make it work. They're more likely to get pulled into the array themselves. We could end up in just as bad a state as Brother.'

'What will _we_ do?' Havoc asked. 'Whatever's in that house isn't something we can exactly shoot. How are we meant to keep you safe while you're working?'

_Distraction_.

The thought cut across Roy's mind like a knife blade, sharp, uncomfortable and shaped by Ed's voice. The edges of his vision turned dark for a moment, but the cold did not shift from his side. In fact, it intensified, as if Ed was clinging on in case he shifted away.

'Just do your best. I think we're meant to let Ed deal with Mason's daughter.' Roy frowned, not liking the faint suggestion of fear and anger that had accompanied Ed's brief missive. This whole mess was far from a sure-thing, and his heart clenched tight at the thought that his hope might be torn away by failure. They all wanted it to work, for a miracle to unfold and for alchemy to delivery Ed back to them, but logically Roy knew nothing would be straightforward.

The strategist in him was looking at risks and outcomes, and concluding without a shadow of a doubt that this was simply too dangerous. They could lose far more than just Ed in the execution of their desperate efforts, but logic was an unacknowledged voice of warning. He could not play it safe, not now. For anyone else, he would think twice, but for Ed there was no such hesitation. Whatever it took, they would do this.

'Here we are,' Hughes said, looking at Roy as the car pulled to a halt, sending gravel skittering before the path of its tyres. 'You sure about this?'

'Yes. Come on. We need every light we can find in the ballroom. Candles, oil-lamps, whatever you can scrounge from the rest of the house. The last thing we need is a mistake in the array because it was too dark to see.' He opened the car door, slipping out from under Ed's weight before reaching in and lifting him back into his arms.

Ed's head lolled against Roy's shoulders as he waited impatiently for Hughes to pull a couple of torches from the car boot, handing one to Al before turning on the other and moving the beam to alight on the front door. Together, they climbed the steps, wary and tense in the grasp of the cold night air. Roy nudged the parted door aside with his shoulder, his boots echoing on the floor of the hall as he strode inside.

'You two go to the ballroom,' Hughes told them. 'Havoc and I will search for candles and things.'

'Be careful,' Roy called out. 'Mason's daughter hasn't been able to hurt us, but that could change.'

Hughes flicked off an idle salute as he and Havoc wandered away, crowded close around the single torch they shared. Roy listened to them go – steady, confident footsteps fading into the darkness – before he turned to trail Al's departing figure.

They moved quickly, walking through rooms without so much as a glance at their surroundings until they stood in the vast sprawl of the ballroom amidst the glower of paintings. The daughter's picture was still propped up at the far end of the room, and Roy narrowed his eyes at it before Al's torchlight danced down to the array on the floor.

'I can't make anything out in this light,' he murmured, casting Roy a worried look.

'Plan the design you're going to use,' Roy ordered, bending to gently lay Ed on the floor, safe amidst the blankets. 'You've got a pen and some paper?' He smiled as Al nodded. 'Then sketch it out, make sure you've got it right. I'll get some more light so I can tell you where to put it.'

He moved quickly, snatching up abandoned candlestick with half-spent tallows and lighting the wicks with a click of his fingers. Before long Hughes and Havoc came back carrying oil lamps, weighed down by the burden of them. Havoc helped get the flames going with matches, and within twenty minutes the ballroom glowed with a soft, warm light that chased off the oppressive veil of shadows.

'Any growls?' Hughes asked quietly, frowning as one of the flames burned ice blue for a minute before returning to its normal sunny colour. 'Or anything from Ed?'

'No,' Roy said quietly. 'It's been silent.' He was not even sure if Ed was still here. The brumal presence at his side had vanished once they entered the ballroom. The air remained quiet and his thoughts were his own. Had Ed been dragged back through to wherever Mason's daughter was? Could he be fighting her off while the rest of them were trying desperately to make this thing work?

A shiver from Al was enough to cast doubt on that idea, and Roy watched as a cloud of breath escaped Al's lips. His eyes were glazed and unfocussed, his lips moving minutely. It was disturbing to watch, not just distracted but almost entirely vacant. As if whatever made Al himself had been removed and left a moving body in its place..

At last, Al seemed to shudder awake again, his pupils dilating before he began to scribble frantically, his pencil flying over the design as a smile curved his lips.

A heartbeat later, the expression of delight fell away as the candles all began to dip, their flames dwindling as if the air was being pulled from the room. The darkness thickened, and Roy's knuckles tensed as he stared around, his ears popping with static as he strained his hearing.

The roar came fast and sudden, like the first break of a summer storm. The curtains swayed as if a gale whipped through the room, and the instruments hummed their resonant harmony to the air's vibrations, but nothing leapt out at them. Roy was not even sure what he was looking for: a human being or something worse? Either way, he still found himself seeking the cold wall of Ed's presence, trying to reassure himself that he was still with them as the snarling voice faded away with a smug, self-satisfied air and the room fell still.

'He's gone,' Al whispered. 'He was telling me about the array. Put an image of it in my head but I – I think I felt him slip away.'

'Then we need to move quickly.' Roy snapped his fingers, sending a white banner of flame up to hover near the old chandeliers and cast its glow across the floor. Now, in the almost surgical light, he could make out the hazy lines of Mason's Maltouche efforts. 'Where does your array need to go?'

'There.' Al held out one of the sketches from Mason's notes, pointing to a vortex near the periphery. 'It's the connection point for the cascade, it makes the circle of individual arrays close. It's the best place to insert something new.'

Roy grabbed the paper and began to pace, tipping his head this way and that to orientate the design on the floor with the one in his hand as his heart raced. ' Ed needs to go there,' he ordered, pointing to the centre of the array as he continued his search. Roy was barely aware of Havoc carefully moving Ed's motionless form to the middle of the design as he tried to read the whorls and tangles of Mason's creation, checking and double-checking until he could point to one area of the floor. 'It's here, Al. Draw it straight on the marble.'

'It needs to be touching the circumference.' Al's knees hit the floor with a thud, the coloured chalk in his grip turning his fingers dark as he traced a vein in the marble. 'That's here, isn't it?'

Roy nodded, folding his arms as he watched Al work. It was quick and competent, but every passing second felt like blood dripping from a wound. Ed had fought off Mason's daughter before, but how long could he keep that up? Was he weakening from his trips back and forth between one plane and the next? Was he injured? How long could he really wait?

At last, Al sat back, smudging chalk across his skin as he wiped sweat from his forehead and checked the array over. 'That's it. It should force the cascade to work in reverse and put Brother back in his body.'

'What about the arrays on his skin? If they start going backwards, what will happen?' Hughes asked, glancing down at Ed before meeting Al's eyes.

'A reverse energy flow will wipe them out. They'll stop working.' Al took a deep breath, speaking so quickly that his words tumbled over each other. 'If we get this right, it will only be a moment or two between those designs failing and Ed going back into his body. The jolt of it should be enough to start his heart again.'

'"Should?"' Roy parroted, seeing the tense lines cutting into the corners of Al's eyes and bracketing his mouth.

'This design deliberately re-routes some of the power for that purpose. As long as Brother's brain is still functioning, all autonomous processes like heartbeat and breathing will start by themselves.'

No one asked what would happen if Ed's brain was already destroyed. The answer was obvious. All this would be for nothing, and the single stray spirit that was all that remained of Ed's presence would be lost to them.

'Come on then. Tell me what to do.' Roy knelt at Al's side, his fingers hovering about the circumference of Al's array as he licked his lips. 'Just activate it?'

'Yeah. It's going to feel like pushing against a massive weight – like trying to move a tank – but it will get easier as the flow starts to reverse. Ready?'

Roy swallowed, squaring his shoulders as he nodded his head. 'Ready.'

He pressed his hands to the circle of the design, feeling the sudden, sharp bite of activation pull at him. It was voracious and hungry, making his skin ache and his head pound as the flow of power drained away from him, filling up lines and sigils until, suddenly, it hit a wall. It was like running full sprint into a building, bruising all the way down to his ribs, and he heard Al gasp in pain at his side.

Sweat beaded along Roy's hairline, trailing down his temple as his pulse hammered in his ears. It felt as if he were throwing all his force against a mountain, utterly useless, but slowly the sensation began to change. Like a massive wheel beginning to turn, he felt the flow of energy begin to move in the opposite direction to Mason's intention. He could sense the symbols reversing polarity, the circuit being usurped and corrupted to their own, better purpose, and a grin cracked across his lips.

It was working! As desperate and hopeless as it seemed, the array was working, and Ed would find his way back to them.

**To be Continued**


End file.
